Cull Note
by PumpkinFullOfKnives
Summary: "The troll whose name is written in this notebook shall die." - Rule #1 of the Cull Note. Needless to say, when Karkat Vantas finds it on his 7th wriggling day, shit begins to get real alarmingly fast.
1. An Introduction

"Nearly all trolls can stand adversity. If you want a true test of a troll's character, give them power."  
- The Sufferer

* * *

Your name is KARKAT VANTAS, and today is your SEVENTH WRIGGLING DAY. You have ONE FRIEND in total, and NO ENEMIES of note, unless you count yourself, which at this point you think you might. You spend most of your time starting arguments with other trolls online. You usually lose said arguments, but nonetheless you argue with great fervor and reckless abandon, cursing such up a storm that, if unleashed upon the unsuspecting galaxy at large, could possibly bring down the Empire itself. Well, not really. But that doesn't mean you wouldn't want it to. If it was possible hate trolls to death, you would be a very dangerous troll.

Still, your hatred of the Empire is meager by comparison to your self-hatred. It is approaching kismessitude territory at a rapid pace, which KIND OF FREAKS YOU OUT.

Your one friend is KANAYA MARYAM. She is pretty much the only troll you can stand interacting with consistently. But this is NOT HER INTRO PAGE, we're saving that for later.

One other thing to note about you is a secret you've hidden all your life. You are NOT ON THE HEMOSPECTRUM, the blood color coded caste system of your race. Instead, you are below it, with the mutant, impossibly low-class blood color of CANDY RED. This fact is the one that destroyed your hopes of joining the THRESHECUTIONER ORDER, the most deadly members of Troll society. Well, that and the fact that, hard as you try, you ARE TERRIBLE AT FIGHTING WITH SICKLES, but you'd prefer think of yourself as a persecuted mutant than a mediocre fighter.

In fact, you think the chances of you being culled for having mutant blood upon reaching adulthood are exceedingly high, if not a TOTAL CERTAINTY.

Your trolltag is carcinoGeneticist and you speak in a manner that is ALMOST EXCLUSIVELY ORNERY, ALL THE TIME.

Tonight is the most important night of your life. But you don't know it yet.

What will you do?


	2. Blood

"Blood alone moves the wheels of history."

- E%ecutor Darkleer

* * *

**Karkat: Message Kanaya**

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]

CG: HELLO KANAYA.

GA: Happy Wriggling Day Karkat

CG: YEAH YEAH WHO CARES.

GA: I Do

CG: AND I DON'T.

GA: Karkat

GA: Why Are You So Dismissive Of It

CG: BECAUSE IT'S AN IDIOTIC MILESTONE. I DON'T CARE ABOUT IT IN THE LEAST.

CG: CAN WE CHANGE THE SUBJECT?

GA: It Is Not A Problem

GA: You Are A Friend, After All

CG: YEAH, I GUESS.

CG: YOU ARE A GOOD FRIEND TOO.

CG: I REALLY WISH YOU WERE STILL HERE ON ALTERNIA.

GA: All Trolls Must Leave The Homeworld Upon Adulthood

GA: I Am No Exception

GA: You'll Be Out Here In The Galaxy Too In Just One More Sweep.

CG: I SHOULDN'T HAVE BROUGHT THIS UP.

CG: MY SITUATION ISN'T THAT SIMPLE.

CG: I DON'T *GET* TO WORRY ABOUT WHETHER I'LL BE A CAVALREAPER, THRESHECUTIONER OR EVEN A FUCKING LEGISLACERATOR FOR ALL I CARE!

GA: What Do You Mean

CG: SHIT.

CG: I KEEP OPENING MY DAMNED WINDHOLE WITHOUT MY WORDS BEING ENTIRELY FUCKING PROCESSED IN MY THINKPAN.

CG: I SHOULDN'T HAVE TOLD YOU THAT.

GA: Should I Be Concerned

GA: You Are Starting To Worry Me

CG: SORRY.

CG: I DON'T WANT TALK ABOUT ABOUT IT. NOT NOW, PROBABLY NOT EVER.

CG: SO DON'T TRY AND PRESS ME FOR ANSWERS.

GA: Alright

GA: I Would Like To State For The Record That If You Ever Do Need To Talk About Whatever This Is

GA: I Am Willing To Listen

CG: THANKS, I GUESS.

CG: I'M GOING TO HEAD ON OUT NOW. I THINK IT'S DARK ENOUGH FOR ME TO TAKE A WALK.

GA: I Will Talk To You Later Then

GA: Have A Nice Walk

carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]

**Karkat: Worry.**

You stand up, leaving your husktop open, while muttering curses at your recent past self. In short, you think, that was stupid. Really unconditionally idiotic. You never wanted Kanaya to know of your probable impending doom. To have mutant, candy red blood was a death sentence, you're fairly sure. The second that the Imperial ships went to take you as an adult at eight sweeps to fight for the Empire, they'd test your blood, and promptly have you culled. You're fairly sure of that. You now have pretty much exactly a sweep to live.

So of course you went and made Kanaya worry about you. The one troll you actually care about was going to be concerned over your well being, and there was, of course, not one single fucking thing she could actually do to help you. You probably shouldn't dwell on it, but you probably will anyway.

You meander past your recuperacoon. There are several torn-down posters of romance movies rolled up in the corner by it. Looking at them, you recall when you gave up your delusion of, and obsession with, your formerly alleged stranglehold on all the nuances of troll romance. Looking back, you realize it was pretty stupid of you to ever think you had a clue what you were talking about. Troll romance is a complicated subject and you are not good at it. Past you was an idiot to think himself a master of the quadrants.

Since you are going out for a walk in the town, you captchalogue your sickle into your strife deck. Never know what could happen. Walking downstairs, you see your Lusus getting a snack from the meal vault. You just walk on by, you don't feel up for dealing with him currently. You care about him, but he still gets on your nerves frequently.

Looking out the window, you observe the town. The run-down area you reside in is largely populated by fellow lowbloods. On the whole, it's a pretty ugly little town full of run-down and abandoned hives, and there's no law enforcement to speak of. This does have its benefits, however. Young trolls hoping to become legislacerators once they leave Alternia tend to be needlessly cruel in their enforcement of their twisted concept of justice, where it all comes down to the blood. So a little anarchy might not be the worst thing in a lowblood town, particularly for a mutant like you. Still, you're probably smart not to go out much. Doesn't stop you this time though.

As you step into the cool night air, you look up at stars, and the twin moons of Alternia. Your mind wanders, and you begin to ponder what it would be like to be up there in space, with Kanaya, exploring the stars. You try to squash this meaningless fantasy out of your head, but you don't quite manage it. Instead you try to replace it with the immutable truths of your life; the Empire is twisted, the hemospectrum is stupid, Her Imperious Condescension is a fucking lunatic, you are a dead troll walking, and you are also fucking angry about it all. Sometimes you wonder how troll society got so fucked up.

You get the feeling it's going to be a long night.

Walking down the streets, you keep your head down and move quickly. It's somewhat chilly out, which is not helped by the brisk alternian night wind blowing right in your face. You'd hoped this walk would calm you down somewhat. It doesn't appear to be working.

There are a few other trolls out on and about tonight. You don't know any of them, of course. A bunch of them are at the theater, standing around waiting to get in. There's a new Troll Johnny Depp movie out, it seems. Something about space pirates. You think it's a sequel. Your lack of interest is profound, despite your vague recollection that Troll Johnny Depp is quife a skilled actor. You really don't give so much as half a fuck about fiction these days. The real world is broken, the systems that govern society are all fucked up, and you don't want to lose yourself in fiction anymore. You want to do something. If only there was something you could actually do.

It's a this point you realize you are pulling yourself into a frustrating and useless train of thought again but you don't care, so you keep ranting to yourself in your head. You can't do a damn thing about society or the hemospectrum or the Empire. All this tyranny, entrenched in so many colors of blood. Most trolls think it's normal, that this how things have to be, simply because it's how it's always been. It makes you so fucking angry. And so on. You continue your mental rant for some time, only barely paying attention to where you are going.

Eventually you look up, determining your location to be just a block or so away from your hive. You seem to have been walking in a long circle, or some other geometric shit leading back the direction where you started. You know a shortcut to get back to your hive faster; there's an alley over there that lets out just next to it, so you head over there. As you enter the alley, you hear footsteps behind you. This is clearly not a good thing to wind up hearing on a brisk Alternian night while entering an alley, so you try to move a bit faster towards your home. The footsteps following you speed up as well. You look behind you and barely dodge the blade, stumbling to the ground away from your attacker.

**STRIFE!**

As you fall, the sight of a short, scruffy looking troll with long hair and tall twisted horns barely registers, mainly because that fucker's sword was inches from cutting your neck open. You let out a resounding "Fuck!" as you hit the ground. He calmly walks towards you, his blade pointed towards your neck. Standing over you, he smirks and says "Sorry", lazily raising his blade for a first and final blow.

It is at this point that you kick him in the autoerogenous shame globes.

Your attacker howls in pain, in state of stunned agony. With a burst of adrenaline, you manage to scramble away from him and stand up. By the time you draw your sickle from your strife deck, he's charging at you again. Running on pure panicked instinct, you try to deflet his blade. Surprisingly enough, you succeed at. Less surprisingly, he manages to punch you in nose immediately afterward.

Recoiling from the blow to your face, you curse loudly and repeatedly. To say that it hurts would be an understatement, but you try to strike back at him anyway. You swing your sickle frantically, and your adversary dodges the first swing and blocks the second. You're flipping the fuck out here though, and in a blind rage, you manage to slice his blade claw on the your third swing. He yelps in pain and drops his sword, and it's then you know you've got him. Kicking him in the stomach, you then pin him to the wall, sickle to his neck. His confidence is shattered; he's cursing and even crying, olive tears flowing down his face, olive blood running from his wounded claw. He knows he's lost, he's panicking, but he wants to live.

**Karkat: Deal with this douchebag.**

"Why the fuck did you try to cull me you moronic little wriggler!?", you scream in his face.

He stutters, grasping his wounded hand."I... oh don't cull me... no no no no, no no-"

"You have seven seconds until I stick my sickle down your meal tunnel and rip you open, you vile bulgestain! Answer the damn question!"

He's looking around eyes darting and unfocused "I don't like culling, but I needed- wait- no, your blood, how-"

"Who the fuck are you and why were you trying to cull me, you ignorant twit!", you roar.

"You... your blood... what are-"

This is when you realize it. Your nose is bleeding. It's bleeding, he punched it earlier and now you're leaking mutant blood all over the ground. You summarize this in your thinkpan with a single thought: FUCK!

You cull the the thug who attacked you quickly, in a fit of anger and frustration. You can't afford to let him live; he saw your blood, after all. When you open his neck with your sickle, he slumps to the ground by the side of the alley, very dead. Candy red blood drips from your nose, mixing with his olive blood in a puddle. You stand there for a second, looking at his corpse, before you cover your wound with a claw, trying to hide your wound. Quickly re-captchalogueing your sickle, and sprint back to your hive as fast as you can manage, slamming the door behind you.

Once the door to your hive is closed, you take a second to catch your breath, leaning back on the door. Walking around town is tiring after a while, and nearly getting culled in a fight is even more so. You've avoided fights like this your whole life- you argue online a lot, to be sure, but people can't cut or beat you online. No-one can cull you via the web if they think your GrubTube comments are annoying or crabby. They can piss you off, to be sure, but all in all, it's safe. You don't go out more precisely because things like this could happen.

The fact that you culled some shithead mugger is bothering you. He attacked you, sure, but something about it just doesn't sit right with you. You decide to worry about it later. You survived to fight another day. That's the important bit, you're fairly sure.

You go over to the other room to grab a tissue to soak up your nosebleed, but your Lusus is blocking the doorway. He's looking at you, probably concerned or something. Scowling, you push past him and grab the tissue before storming upstairs.

As you enter your respiteblock, you hear thunder in the distance. Outside, the rain is washing away the blood in the alley. It's been a long fucking day, and you are sick of approximately everything. Sitting down at your desk, you notice a black notebook that wasn't there before. Before you can examine it, an apparently blank message pops up on your husktop. Upon closer inspection, it's from some asshole who uses a white font in Trollian chats.

**Karkat: Highlight text.**

Mr. Vantas.

I would like to congratulate you on your first culling. I would wish you many more such successes for the future, but I already know exactly how many more lives you will end, so wishes are irrelevant in this regard.

In any case, I suggest you look at the notebook. I know you will find it a suitable gift for your wriggling day.

I will contact you again.

You attempt to type in a response to violently berate this pretentious shit, but the fucker's not online. It seems his identity is masked from Trollian, and you cannot contact him currently at all. What a tool. Turning to the notebook, you notice the words "Cull Note" written in neat white text on the cover. Opening it, you begin to read.

#1 - The troll whose name is written in this notebook shall die.

#2 - This notebook will not take effect unless the writer has the troll's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, trolls sharing the same name will not be affected.

#3 - If the cause of death is written within the next 40 seconds of writing the troll's name, it will happen.

#4 - If the cause of death is not specified, the troll will simply die of a heart attack.

#5 - After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.

Multiple thoughts are running through your thinkpan right now, but most of them are dismissive and disbelieving. Still, you think, it can't hurt to try.


	3. Forcing Change

"I am Her Imperious Condescension, Empress of fuckin Empresses;

Look on all my power and bling, you beaches, and beware!"

- Her Imperious Condescension

* * *

**Karkat: Consider the situation.**

You sit at your desk, pen in hand. Somewhere along the line of the incompetent attempt on your life by some mugger, the message from some enigmatic asshat who typed in white with no trolltag, and the mysterious appearance of the notebook which could allegedly do very obviously impossible things, you had become quite certain someone was fucking with you.

You let out a loud, frustrated groan, and flip the notebook past the rules to a clear, lined page. You can't believe you are playing along with this musclebeastshit.

_Looks like a regular fucking notebook to me. I don't see how giving it a shot could hurt, though, besides feeling stupid for trying it in retrospect. Whatever._

After you stare at the page for another half minute, you decide who to test it on. Then, with some nervousness, you hastily write down the name of the Empress.

After you put your pen down, you immediately open your browser. Clicking on your bookmark to GrubTube, you scroll down to the Imperial News Network's channel. The only official source of news in the whole of Alternian Imperial space, the INN was, of course, filled with news stories and opinion pieces that ranged from "pro-imperial spin" to "almost certainly blatant lies".

You don't need what they say to be true, however. You just need to see what the Condesce is up to, and determine if this notebook actually does work. The INN tends to keep close track of Her Imperious Condescension's activities, at least those that are't secret. Her regular public cullings of would-be heirs in the Imperial Arena, or her dedicating the occasional statue to herself in some excessively public ceremony, which is what she's doing now. The bitch always has loved attention.

Checking the time, you see that there are 23 seconds left until presumably absolutely nothing will happen, since this couldn't possibly actually do anything. You can't believe you're playing along with this sick joke. Still, you wonder what would happen to the Empire if this did work. It certainly couldn't get much worse.

The news stream zooms in on Her Imperious Condescension. She is on a balcony on the front of an underwater palace, surrounded by counts, dukes, or whatever other titles she gives to her favorite seadweller advisers who she hasn't culled yet. A group of slightly less important seadwellers are in the courtyard below. Most are looking up at their empress, with the occasional glance at the shrouded stature in the middle of the group below.

12 seconds.

The Condesce walks forward, greeting her subjects in her usual idiotic slang.

Applause and cheers erupt from the seadwellers below. Her advisers clap in a more polite and restrained manner.

4 seconds.

The shroud is pulled from over the statue in the courtyard. A solid gold, glitter-covered statue of Her Imperious Condescension is revealed, in all its gaudy splendor.

1 second.

The Empress of the Alternian Empire clutches her chest, clearly in pain.

0 seconds. She wobbles, and collapses to the floor of the balcony.

You flip the fuck out.

The realization of what has just happened is taking a bit of time to sink in, but this does not do much to hinder on onset of your panic attack.

_Fuck, you think, what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!_ Your blood pump is pounding, your head is spinning. You begin to hyperventilate. _This is goddamn full-on crazy, it's impossible_, you try to rationalize. Indeed, there should be no way to cull someone lightsweeps away. Security on water planets is insanely tight, particularly at the seat of imperial power. And even so, it had been rumored that Her Imperious Condescension is near immortal- she has ruled for over a hundred sweeps, after all. There's no way she could die just like that.

Nevertheless, it does seem to have happened. Your eyes are fixed to the news stream as a moment of awkward, confused silence is followed by an outbreak of chaos. The trolls in the courtyard, after realizing that something has gone quite wrong, begin to scurry about in a frenzy. One of the advisers on the balcony begins to nervously approach the empress's limp form. That's when the stream goes down, replaced by a screen, declaring Technical Difficulties, Please Stand By.

_She grabbed her chest and fell down... that doesn't mean it was a heart attack, blood pump failure, whatever. That doesn't mean I culled her, it couldn't have been me. She's fucking crazy and evil and she fucking deserves it to be sure, but I couldn't have just culled the goddamn Condesce._

You begin trying to calm yourself_. Even if I did- even if I did cull her, even if I did just cull the goddamn Empress, the most powerful troll in history, how could they know it was me? They can't. There's no way they could forensically tell that the empress was culled by me, on the other end of the galaxy, writing in a fucking notebook. They can't send threshecutioners and legislacerators to cull me if they don't know I did this. I've still got a sweep to live, most likely._

You look at back at the notebook. The empress's name is written there, in your near-illegible scrawl. Your pen lays on the no longer quite empty page. The thoughts process in your head, driving you towards the inevitable conclusion. This is the solution you've always wanted, better than you could have ever dreamed of. The Empire can be fixed, with a few choice strokes of the pen. The white text guy were right, it seems. Tonight is a good night, and this is a spectacular present for your wriggling day.

You begin to laugh. It's a harsh sound, and growing louder.


	4. Miracles

"The world is indeed comic, but the joke is on trollkind."

- The Grand Highblood

* * *

You are GAMZEE MAKARA, SUBJUGGLATOR TRAINEE.

You were sworn into service as a subjugglator to serve the GLORY of the Empire, the MIGHT of the Eternal Empress, and the ORDER of the Mirthful Church. You belong to the motherfucking CHURCH of the MIRTHFUL MESSIAHS. You motherfucking wanted to MOTHERFUCKING _belong_.

Being about as much a highblood as land-dwellers could be, much was expected of you. You should have been on the fast track. Your chucklevoodoos were strong and you were perfectly capable of ripping off a MOTHERFUCKER'S head if you needed to. They wanted you to be the BEST, most VICIOUS and DEADLY motherfucker around.

To put it simply, you weren't.

An IDIOT and an ADDICT, they called you. A weak-willed FAILURE, dead in the thinkpan and without so much as a scrap of ambition. Well, those MOTHERFUCKERS would motherfucking KNOW, wouldn't they?

They sure as hell would.

They couldn't do much about your sopor slime. After all, you did need a MOTHERFUCKING recuperacoon FILLED with the motherfucking stuff, right? You just weren't supposed to make PIES out of it. But you did, because you GOTTA DO what feels MOTHERFUCKING RIGHT, y'know?

You didn't pass the tests on church law, culling procudures, or any of that motherfucking SHIT. One might even say you FAILED with FLYING COLORS.

The day you slept through the scripture exam, Her Imperious Condescension, the ALLEGED IMMORTAL, fell over dead for no motherfucking REASON.

And here you are now, off the SLIME and out of your GODSDAMN THINKPAN.

Your trolltag is terminallyCapricious and you speak in a manner that is JuSt A lItTlE bIt WhImSiCaL.

You would get the feeling it's going to be a long night, but you are on the Imperial MOTHERFUCKING Space Ship _Begotten_, and the night out here don't motherfucking END anyway.

The rest of the written exams come the next night. You fail again, but not due to a lack of focus. Your mind is CLEAR, it's MOTHERFUCKING PRISTINE up in there. It's just that you don't give a shit.

You're in your quarters trying to sleep when the loudspeaker hums to life. A solemn voice speaks. You think it's the captain of the vessel, but you sure as hell ain't motherfucking sure.

"I am deeply sorry to announce that we just got word from I.S.S. _Resplendent_ that… The Grand Highblood collapsed in his palace on Yarvolis an hour ago. Attempts were made to resuscitate him, without success."

You can hear a clamor of noise throughout the _Begotten_. The sound of anguished cries, the noise of woe. The voice continues on, in a pained, mourning tone.

"The Mirthful Church is without a leader. The Higher Council will convene in three nights to select a new Grand Highblood. Try not to let this disrupt your training, the combat exam is in less than a week."

The noise persists, but you don't cry out. You don't wail and pound your fists on the wall. Your mind is spinning. The Empress and Grand Highblood are both dead, one after another. That doesn't sound like a MOTHERFUCKING coincidence to you. They were culled. Some motherfucker culled them.

But it's impossible, is the MOTHERFUCKING problem. You're pretty sure the planet Yarvolis is on the other side of the galaxy from where Her Imperious Condescension fell over dead. So what the motherfuck happened? It would take some sort of miracle to-

You stop yourself short. That's blasphemy you just almost thought. Blasphemy is a vile thing, the enemy of faith, the nemesis of the Messiahs. Blasphemy is what you're being trained to fight.

So why does it make so much MOTHERFUCKING SENSE?

No troll could have culled those two high and mighty motherfuckers. But they sure as hell MOTHERFUCKING DIED. Someone had to make that happen. Maybe a Messiah. Maybe everything you've been taught has been wrong. Bogus gods and false ideals. Maybe the whole damn system was fucked, so the Messiah went and removed the motherfucking trolls who were fucking it over. Maybe they were the real blasphemers.

Maybe. You're not sure. But this idea, it feels MOTHERFUCKING RIGHT to you.

You start to laugh.

Three nights later, you and your fellow trainees stand in the combat training block, waiting for the Combat Examiner. There's a table full of melee weapons on the other end of the training block. You're in the second row of trainees back. To your left is a scrawny motherfucking WIMP who probably aced all the written exams and is about to get his head ripped off in this one. To your right is an overconfident and burly FOOL who likely bombed the previous exams nearly bad as you did. He almost certainly intends to make up for it by smashing in some MOTHERFUCKING FACES.

You, you're doing fine. Just motherfucking GROOVY, relishing your prior HOLY REVELATION. It eats at you, all this knowing without being able to MOTHERFUCKING PREACH it. But you've got your knowing on. It'll be time soon enough. You can can motherfucking FEEL IT.

Subjugglator Enmera Jarvid strides into the room. She's your combat trainer and the Examiner for this, the final and most important exam. She's also a total wicked bitch, but in the bad way, not the badass way. Maybe both, actually, but that'd be a MOTHERFUCKING TECHNICALITY.

You don't like her, obviously. She's all pretension and cruelty, wouldn't know a miracle if one happened right under her own cartilaginous nub.

"So," she says, "You all want to be Subjugglators? Is that fuckin' right?"

All the trainees but you let out a resounding "Fuck yes!" Jarvid doesn't seem to have noticed your silence, but the motherfucker to your left looks at you funny afterwards.

Enmera sneers. "You do, do ya? Makes sense, 'cause if you cluckbeasted out now we'd have to space ya! But then again, I wouldn't trust the lot of you as fuckin' janitors! Maybe one of you has what it takes to get fuckin' anywhere! But know this- I fuckin' doubt it! I expect most of you will be culled and thrown in the dead-piles trying to quell a revolt on planet Assfuck Nowhere, your high blood spilled out over the godsdamn streets! You hear me?!"

A loud chorus of "Fuck yes!" echos through the training block.

"And you all still want to be Subjugglators, the fist of the Mirthful Church?!"

Everyone else all goes FUCK YES and whatever you don't care.

She snarls, "Then why don't you fuckin' show me? Let's start with someone I can make a fuckin' example of! How about you, Trainee Makara?! The sopor-eating failure! Come over here and show me what the fuck you've got!"

Examiner Jarvid means to end you. She's MOTHERFUCKING SURE you'd be more useful dead than alive, an example in purple blood spilled. She's certainly well-trained enough to spill it. You know this.

And with all that known, you step forward. Gotta have some motherfucking FAITH, after all.

She gestures to the table of weapons in the back of the training block. "Select your weapons, trainee. Two at most."

You look at your options. Maces, flails, sickles, knives, sabers, staffs, culling forks, and more. Eventually you make a selection. Probably not the best, tactically speaking, but something about the pair of short, heavy clubs feels RIGHT to you.

Picking them up, you turn to face her. Examiner Jarvid is twirling a dagger in her left claw, and points a short sword at you with her right. She's smiling. You cannot wait to smash in her ARROGANT smirk. That shit's gonna be MOTHERFUCKING RIGHTEOUS.

"Begin."

The fight doesn't get to a rapid start. She walks towards you slowly, all casual and confident. Her short sword is still pointed at your face, her dagger held at her side. You just motherfucking stand there. She expects you to attack her. She will counter, you will die. That's her plan.

So you do something else

You speak.

"Your messiahs are dead."

She stops, and frowns. You let out a quiet "Hooonk", and then you smile at her. Her face is contorted in rage.

"The Empire was set up for the benefit of two trolls. The messiahs of land and sea are dead. They were FALSE idols, brought down by a MOTHERFUCKING TRUE MESSIAH. And the mirthful gods, I'm thinking they were motherfucking bogus from the start."

She charges at you in a fury, meaning to end your truth by removing your head. To her, your TRUTH is BLASPHEMY.

This shit might be somewhat relative. But you've picked your side here, and so has she.

_You_ defend yourself, deflecting her first strike with a club. She slashes at your neck with the dagger, and you twist out of the way, faster than you thought you could move. Going off the sopor has helped your reaction time, it seems.

Enmera had probably expected to open your neck and finish you there. She underestimated you, and left herself open in a rush to cull you quickly. A rookie's mistake. But then, she was expecting the addict, the failure. You ain't those things anymore.

You bring a club down on Emera's left shoulder. There is a crack of bone, and she lets out a brief cry of pain. Her dagger drops to the floor from her now-limp arm.

The Examiner backs away from you then, quickly. Enmera's face is showing her wounded pride for all these other motherfucking trainees to bear witness to. Her eyes are cold and full of rage, but she speaks slowly, as if to try and hold it back.

"Trainee Makara. You've got impressive fierceness, all of a sudden. You've got the drive, it seems, and the hate, but you've got it all pointed at the _wrong fuckin' direction_. The Church is salvation. It is the _truth_ and the _fury_, trainee Makara. To oppose it is treason, and treason is death. _Do you fuckin' understand that_?"

You shrug. "I know a miracle when I MOTHERFUCKING SEE ONE, Examiner. Treason's just a word, used to keep things neat and orderly and wrong. Words don't mean shit."

"Then allow me to demonstrate by actions,_ blasphemer_."

Enmera charges at you, faster than before. She may be down an arm, but she's fighting all-out now. She covers the ground between you in an instant. Moving like LIGHTNING she swats the club out of your right claw. You try and dodge her next blow, a kick to your chest, but she's too fast. You are slammed to the wall, and she stabs her blade towards your chest. You try to knock the blade aside with your claw, but she just stabs right through it with her short blade.

Her sword is lodged in your outstretched claw. She pushes the blade towards your chest, but you push back, your impaled palm sliding up the blade and grabbing the hilt of her sword. Warm, purple BLOOD drips down your arm. Before she can push the blade into your chest, you swing your remaining club at her face. Her jaw shatters, her sharp teeth falling to the floor. You raise the club and bring it down again.

Like that, the Examiner Jarvid is FINISHED. Her corpse collapses to the floor in a puddle of her purple blood. You pull her short sword out of your claw, realizing it should probably be hurting more than it is. You drop your club, and let out a victorious HONK.

You look over at the other trainees, who are gawking at you like a bunch of motherfucking wrigglers. One of them, the burly one who had been standing to your right before Enmera had called you up to fight, charges at you. He is shouting about treason or something.

You dodge, and in a single motion, rip off his arm and slap him across the face with it. He falls to the floor, neck snapped from the blow. You're still holding his arm when the ship's loudspeaker hums to life, and the captain speaks. That MOTHERFUCKER talks in shocked, numb tone.

"The Higher Council is has been culled. They... they collapsed, dead, same as Her Imperious Condescension, and the Grand Highblood. Some_thing_ has declared war on our Empire and our Church, through unknown means. We need our Messiahs, now, more than ever. Pray to them for an end to these dark times." The loudspeaker shuts off, and there is silence.

The other trainees are still standing there, silent and terrified. You drop the dead trainee's arm, and stand in front of the table of weapons.

"Enmera said treason is DEATH. She was motherfucking WRONG, you hear? Look what happens to those who lead the CHURCH, those who lead this whole MOTHERFUCKING EMPIRE. To follow them, to do as they do, that is death. While they rule, treason is LIFE ITSELF."

"So then, my brothers, do you want to live, or are you ready to motherfucking die?"

The remaining trainees pick treason over death. You can't say it MOTHERFUCKING SHOCKS you, but it is somewhat surprising how willingly they follow along. You suppose some them may have only worshiped the BOGUS MESSIAHS out of fear. They may seek more control over their lives than the motherfucking Empire would give them. But not all of them. You are sure there are some TRUE BELIEVERS of those FALSE GODS, much like you were, once. Some of them are surely only playing along since they saw you cull the deadliest troll on the ship. You'll have to watch out for them.

The I.S.S. _Begotten_ is not a large vessel. You're pretty sure the crew numbers in the twenties, roughly the same as the number of the trainees. You don't think many of them will pose a challenge. There may be three or four guards total, and it is unlikely the captain would be a total pushover. You doubt they'll be prepared for your MUTINY, though. Who ever heard heard of a mutiny on a subjugglator training vessel, anyway? You sure haven't. But you guess these MOTHERFUCKERS will, soon enough.

Your brothers and sisters pick their weapons from the table, and spread out to secure the ship. You make your way towards the bridge, taking two guards by surprise on the way there. They die FAST and EASY, if not CLEANLY. You hear footsteps, and turn to see the scrawny trainee who'd stood to your left earlier walking up to you. He looks you in the eye, and you can tell he has no fear for you. The motherfucker might be made of sterner stuff than you thought.

"Do you really think we'll survive this?"

"I have FAITH, brother."

"Uh-huh, sure. Let's keep going, then."

He leans down to pick up the guns of the fallen guards. You hear shouts through the corridors of the _Begotten_, sounds of fear and surprise, cut short by blades. These are the sounds of success. You smile, and walk forward towards the bridge door, a club in each claw.

When the door opens the captain is facing you, at least ten feet away. His gun is pointed at your chest, and three shots ring out. There is a flash of pain in your shoulder, and it takes you a second to realize only one of them hit you. The captain, on the other hand, has fallen to the floor in a puddle of purple, shot in the chest and shoulder. The scrawny troll walks past you, holding a smoking pistol, and fires off two more shots down into the captain's face. The pilot, unarmed, puts his claws up, surrendering. He is subsequently pistol-whipped, and falls unconscious in his chair.

Your wounded claw and shoulder are still bleeding, but once again the wound hurts less than you figure it MOTHERFUCKING SHOULD. Whatever. You make your way to the captain's chair, and sit, letting out a quiet "honk".

The scrawny troll turns to face you. "So, Makara. Looks like we've won this round, but I doubt that it will be long before the Empire sends vessels to hunt us down. You do realize that no troll has ever picked a fight like this with the Empire and won?"

You think this over for a second. "Times change, brother," you say. "There is a new Messiah, and his will is clear. He shall PROVIDE for our SALVATION."

He frowns at you. "To be totally honest, I've never actually bought into talk of any Messiahs, mirthful or otherwise. The damn drones picked me for this career, and I had to act the part as best I could."

You're amazed this motherfucker is still alive, having been an atheist in the ranks of the Mirthful church. Wow.

"Anyway," he continues, "_please_ stop calling me brother, my name is Ezinir Veskim."

"Ezinir, why would you help my cause if you DENY my Messiah?"

"Simple. As you said, times change. Besides, the die is already cast."

Ezinir shoves the KO'd crewman out of the pilot's seat, and sits in the emptied chair, facing forward.

"Woah, wait," you say. "Can you fly one of these things?"

"Let's just say I know how magnets work and leave it at that. Where to?"

You smile a WICKED GRIN and point ahead. "Forward."


	5. Empress

"Power is of two kinds. One is obtained by the fear of punishment and the other by acts of love. Power based on love is a thousand times more effective and permanent than the one derived from fear of punishment."

- The Disciple

* * *

Your name is FEFERI PEIXES, and you are 10 sweeps old. Tonight, you are supposed to be crowned Empress of the Alternian Empire. As the only current HEIR TO THE IMPERIAL THRONE, you never expected to live very long. Her Imperious Condescension had arranged the death of, or outright culled, all potential heirs during her reign. She simply hadn't gotten around to culling you yet.

Her sudden death appears to have rendered all your plans to TAKE THE THRONE irrelevant. You always wanted to make the Empire a more peaceful place. When you were younger you spent much time playing out fantasies where you had defeated the Condesce and become Empress, proceeding to change the definition of "cull" from "exterminate" to "care for the unfit and infirm". You, by this definition, culled quite a lot of the FAUNA OF THE DEEP, which in retrospect were probably not unfit or infirm but merely adorable.

Your trolltag is cuttlefishCuller and you )(ave a )(ard time not getting R-EALLY -EXCIT-ED ABOUT PRACTICALLY -EV-ERYT)(ING!

Today is an exception to this, though. You are not excited, you are not happy, and you are certainly not relaxed. Instead, you are FREAKING TERRIFIED, and trying to keep your composure as you rehearse your coronation speech, quite aware that when you give it tonight, there does seem to be a decent chance you will drop dead like the Condesce did. This rehearsal is cut short when you hear a knock at the door.

The knock on the door was followed immediately by your moirail barging into your respiteblock.

"You're rehearsing" he states, aghast. "Are you glubbing insane, Fef?"

"Eridan, I thought you-", you start, before he interrupts.

"Fef, you can't go ahead with this, you'll die." Eridan says the last word with a pained certainty. There is a sort of desperate fear in his eyes. You've never seen him like this, at least not since that time you almost split up with him.

Sighing, you put down the speech you'd typed up. He was a pain sometimes, but Eridan was your palemate. He'd been true to you all these sweeps, he'd at the very least earned an explanation. He was probably right, after all.

"You have to understand," you begin, cautiously. "This isn't aboat me, Eridan. I've thought about this. If I didn't take the throne, all those bottomfeeders who worked directly for the Condesce would fight to the death over who got to rule, and they'd take the rest of the glubbing empire with them. I don't want to die, but if I don't risk this, the empire is sunk!"

Eridan stands there, leaning on the side of the doorway. Looking at the floor, he continues.

"Fef", he starts, his voice more tremulous and wavy than usual, "Whoever culled the late Empress, and the Grand Highblood, and all the rest of them will cull you before you can finish your speech. Tight security didn't stop the scum, and whatever psychic power or black science was used to cull them clearly doesn't need whoever did this to even be nearby. It's hopeless. The coddamn filthy lowbloods are going to take over if this continues, and I don't sea a way to stop it."

You frown at this statement. "Eridan, I've told you before, our blood color doesn't make us better than anyone. I've never seen any porpoise in the hemospectrum but to keep those who have power in power."

"I'm not up for debaiting it with you, Fef!", he says, voice raised in over-dramatic frustration. "I know what I know, you can believe what you want. That isn't the point. I always wanted you to take over one day, you know that betta than anyone! The point is, you will die if you do this, I'm sure of it! Don't you value your life? Aren't you the least bit afraid?"

Eridan stops, and he stares at you, awaiting a response. You think you see violet tears welling up in his eyes. You're not sure what to say, but you do your best.

"Of course I'm afraid, Eridan. I'd be craysea not to be. But this is the only chance I have to fix the empire. If I don't accept the throne, it's over. I don't think I'm the best troll for the job, but I'm the only one that's royalty. If I pass this by, civil war is likely. Do you actually think the empire could survive that many of its stockpiled doomsday devices being used against itself? Do you want that? This is a huge risk, but it is also a necessary one, Eridan. I'm sorry."

Eridan looks at you, sullen and resigned. "I don't really care aboat the Empire, Fef. I care aboat you." And with that, he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.

**Hours in the future, but not many...**

You've got five minutes left. In three hundred seconds, give or take a few, you'll walk out to the throneblock, give a speech, and seat yourself in that great golden chair. Assuming you live.

Your guards, the apparent best of the best, have been looking around nervously. You've reassured them that if you die suddenly they won't be held as suspects and culled. At least, you told Eridan to try his best to make sure of that.

Walking over to the window, you gaze out at the ocean floor. Somewhere back on Alternia, Gl'bgolyb slumbered. As your lusus, Gl'bgolyb was never much of a mentor or guardian; she had slumbered your whole life, and long before. She may have been the most powerful and dangerous Lusus on Alternia at some point, and might be again one day, but Gl'bgolyb had never done you much good.

She whispered to you about this day, in vaguely-remembered dreams, when you were still a young troll. The sopor slime kept most nightmares away, but it could hardly block a presence of his magnitude. There was a sense of dread and fear in these prophesies that you that had not made sense to you when you were young. You understand it, now. There was the fear of being culled, given the circumstances, but even that was overshadowed by a larger dread. The fear of not your own death, but of the havoc it would cause in galaxy, the wars that would come about in an Empire without an Empress.

"Your highness? One minute until your entrance," one of the guards informs you.

Someone or something out there reely can cull trolls from across the vast distances of space. They could cull you, as well as whoever might try to take power over the Empire after you. It seems apparent to you, judging by their actions thus far, that they will not hesitate to cull anyone that they don't approve of. This leaves you with one option. You can only hope it works.

"It is time, your highness. Follow me."

You move as though you are in a dream, walking to the gallows. You stop. The Alternian Imperial Throne is behind you, the cameras are in front of you. You think you can see Eridan in the crowd of spectators, but you aren't sure it's him. You pause for a moment, and you begin your speech.

"When I was young, I always hoped someday I would become Empress, and lead the Alternian Empire into a time of peace. My predecessor, while an able ruler, never had any shortage of conquests to lead and rebellions to put down. That was the Empire she ruled over. But her time is done."

"This last week has been a trying one. You've all all felt its repercussions. Our long-reigning Empress culled, along with the Grand Highblood, his Higher Council of Subjugglators, and over half of Her Imperious Condescension's advisors. Their culler has, with his or her actions, presented us all with an ultimatum: live in fear, or perish."

"I do knot believe this is some judgement from above, nor a conspiracy from the shadows. It seems to me that somewhere in the galaxy, a troll likely has developed a new sort of psychic power, to cull from across the vast distances of space. We may all be at their mercy. This troll's treasons are unforgivable, but alas, tracing psychic abilities to their user is quite impossible. I denounce the crimes of the culler of our our late Condesce- but I cannot stop them."

At this, the crowd rapidly goes from respectful silence to concerned mutterings, and on to upset shouting and even jeering. You knew this would happen, of course. Admitting defeat to a ruthless traitor before you even sit on the throne would do your popularity no good. The seadweller elite, which constituted a good majority of the spectators, would hate you for it. They'd lost a large number of their own during the last week's psychic culling spree, and those who remained were, generally speaking, just as prideful as those who had perished. They raise an awful din, arguing amongst themselves, before you speak up once more.

"The culler's goal appears to be rebellion, and this rebellion is as dangerous to trollkind as any since the Summoner's Revolt. They have seen injustices in our Empire, and feel they must destroy it, or force it to change by fear. I propose an alternative- instead of tearing down our civilization, we must build upon it. They seek to divide us: the poor against the rich, the weak against the powerful, the lowbloods against the seadwellers. I say we must stand together, we must unite, and we must work together to build a better, kinder Empire. I, as your new Empress, urge you- we must knot live in fear, nor give in to hatred, but instead, learn to respect and understand each other. Thank you all."

You turn and walk to the throne, a weak wave of applause following you. As you sit on the throne, you smile faintly. Your blood pump may be racing, but at least it's still beating.


	6. The Culler

"It is better to be feared than pitied."

- Troll Machiavelli

* * *

**Karkat: Cynically regard coronation.**

You watch the end the ceremony on your husktop. The new Empress, Feferi Peixes, has taken up the royal dual culling fork, and wears the gold tiara. As she sits upon the throne, it occurs to you that she couldn't be more than three or four sweeps older than you. She could hardly be more different from her predecessor. This young Empress appeared, bafflingly enough, to be more benevolent than malevolent. As far as you could tell, she wanted the Empire to be a force for good in the galaxy. You're glad you didn't write her name. You could work with this.

On the other hand, she had denounced your cullings and downplayed how mind-bogglingly awful Her Imperious Condescension had been, but that was to be expected. The point is, the new Empress doesn't dare go after you, and might actually try to do some good on her own, assuming the other seadwellers don't pull some treacherous shit and depose her themselves. Still, if that happened, you'd just write their names down. If they actively opposed you, you could cull them. If anyone in power oppressed your fellow lowbloods, you could cull them. If any troll committed any evil deed and word of it reached the internet, you could end them, just like that. It was all so perfectly simple.

Of course, with all their resources and connections, the highbloods and seadwellers ought to notice the pattern, though they'd dare not speak it aloud. The evil, cruel, and corrupt were being culled, and they didn't want to be next. All you had to do was cull the worst of them consistently enough, and the rest would fall in line out of fear. Still, you have occasionally worried in the last week if you made the right choice to use the Cull Note. You can't quite pin down the source of these worries, though. The only trolls you've culled have been the evil and corrupt, after all.

You off the news stream and are about to put on some music (Young Alternians by Troll David Bowie) when you see that Kanaya is online on Trollian. You've not talked to her since the night you found the Cull Note. You double-click on her trolltag. After a moment of nervous hesitation, you begin to type.

carcinoGeneticist [CG] began trolling grimAuxiliatrix [GA]

CG: HEY KANAYA.

CG: SORRY I'VE BEEN BUSY LATELY. HOW HAVE YOU BEEN?

GA: Hello Karkat

GA: I Have Been Stressed

GA: You Have Been Following The News I Assume

CG: YEAH OF COURSE I'VE BEEN FOLLOWING THE NEWS.

GA: Isnt It Horrible

CG: ARE YOU KIDDING?

CG: THE GODDAMN LUNATIC WHO RUNS THE EMPIRE DROPS DEAD OUT OF NOWHERE, ALONG WITH OVER HALF OF HER ASSISTANT TYRANTS, AND YOU THINK IT'S HORRIBLE?

CG: IT'S FUCKING AMAZING.

GA: No

GA: Though I Was Never Precisely A Supporter Of Our Late Empress, And I Always Considered Her To Be

GA: How Should I Say This

GA: Somewhat Unhinged

CG: DON'T FORGET DERANGED PSYCHOTIC TYRANNICAL EGOMANIACAL HATEFUL CRUEL AND OBSESSED WITH THAT INTENSELY IDIOTIC CLOWN RELIGION.

GA: Yes Those As Well

GA: But I Suppose Her Assassination And The Apparent Psychic Purge Of Her Most Prominent Supporters

GA: While Likely Deserved

CG: YOU AREN'T MAKING YOUR POINT VERY EFFECTIVELY HERE KANAYA.

GA: If You Would Please Allow Me To Finish

CG: WHATEVER, JUST FINISH SO I CAN MAKE MY DAMN REBUTTAL.

GA: Karkat Please

CG: FINE SHUTTING UP NOW.

GA: To Cull Those So Powerful With Some Psychic Power From Afar Seems Impersonal And Cowardly

GA: It Was Not A Fitting Way For Our Empress Of Over One Hundred Sweeps To Perish

CG: YEAH I DOUBT IT WAS PAINFUL ENOUGH.

CG: THAT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MY POINT THOUGH.

CG: MY POINT IS THAT THE CULLING OF THE HIGH GRAND BITCHQUEEN SUPREME AND HER UNDERSEA AND CLOWNY COHORTS OPENS THE DOOR FOR LESS PSYCHO PEOPLE TO TAKE OVER.

CG: EVEN IF THE ACT OF CULLING HER WAS EVIL, WHOEVER DID IT DID THE EMPIRE A FAVOR!

CG: LONG LIVE EMPRESS FEFERI PEIXES, MAY SHE NOT SUCK NEARLY AS BADLY AS OUR OLD LEADERS, AND SO ON AND WHATEVER.

GA: That Is An Interesting Perspective

GA: Though I Rather Doubt The Intentions Of The Culler Are For Any Greater Good

GA: I Doubt Any Troll Willing And Able To End So Many Lives So Easily Will Stop There

CG: THE CULLER?

Another chat window pops up on Trollian, all white text on white background.

Yes, Mr. Vantas, that is what they have been calling you. I know you don't like the nickname, but it does fit.

This last week, you've spent most your waking hours culling with the notebook and reasearching which Trolls' lives deserve a swift end next.

I'd say you appear to enjoy the culling, but I know for a fact you do, even if you won't admit it.

What an incredibly arrogant shitslurper, you think. Even if this mysterious benefactor did get you the notebook, he's still quite clearly a pretentious prick. You guess you'd better ask him what the fuck his deal is before he vanishes from Trollian again.

CG: HELLO YOU ENIGMATIC ASSHOLE.

As humorous as you ceaseless vulgarities may be at times, I'd prefer if you simply referred to me as Doc Scratch.

CG: I DON'T EVEN GIVE HALF A SHIT ABOUT YOUR SPECTACULARLY WEIRD-ASS NAME.

CG: I DOUBT IT'S YOUR REAL NAME ANYWAY.

CG: REALLY, THREE LETTERS IN FIRST NAME, SEVEN IN LAST? WHAT SORT OF NAME IS THAT?

CG: ANYWAY, YOU HAVE SOME FUCKING EXPLAINING TO DO, SCRATCH.

To answer your first question, it is not my true name.

CG: FIGURED.

To answer your next question, I know so much about you because I am omniscient.

In other words, I know so much about everybody, forever. With a couple of exceptions.

Secondly, I gave you the notebook for several reasons. For example, you interest me.

Finally, in regards to my "quirk", as you trolls put it, typing in white text is both fitting and amusing to me.

CG: I DIDN'T ASK YOU THOSE QUESTIONS YET!

You were about to, and those are answers to the next three questions you had planned on asking.

CG: HOW THE HELL?

I have already stated the answer to that. I am omniscient.

CG: SO, YOU KNOW ABOUT GODDAMN NEAR EVERYTHING ABOUT EVERYTHING, AND YOU GAVE ME OF ALL TROLLS THE POWER TO CULL PRETTY MUCH ANYONE?

Not quite.

I, for instance, am not a troll. You do not know what I look like, either. You could not cull me.

But that is largely irrelevant to this, seeing as I am effectively immortal.

CG: OK, YOU KNOW WHAT, BEFORE YOU GET AHEAD OF YOURSELF, I'M CALLING BULLSHIT ON THIS CONVERSATION.

CG: YOU CLAIM TO BE AN OMNISCIENT, IMMORTAL BEING THAT IS NOT A TROLL, MISTER SCRATCH.

I am Doc Scratch, not Mister Scratch.

CG: DON'T CARE, YOU LYING SLIMESTAIN!

I do not lie.

CG: THERE'S NO INTELLIGENT SPECIES LEFT BESIDES TROLLS, CONDY WIPED ALL THEM OUT IN HER INTRAGALACTIC CONQUEST SHITCRUSADE!

CG: THERE ARE *NONE* LEFT!

CG: SO, BY PROCESS OF ELIMINATION, YOU ARE A GODDAMN TROLL JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!

I am going to point out a couple of things to you, Karkat Vantas.

I arranged gave you the most subtly powerful weapon any troll has ever wielded.

I did this of my own volition.

Even if I was mortal and a troll, which I assure you is not the case, you do not have the ability to use it on me, as you don't have my true name, nor do you know my appearance.

CG: YEAH, I KNOW, I CAN'T DO SHIT TO YOU. POINT MADE.

Not yet, actually.

Has it occured what I could do to you if I grew tired of your hostility?

I gave you the notebook, I could just take it away,

CG: HOW?

The same way I gave it to you. I would take it back via teleportation.

CG: TELEPORTATION IS AS IMPOSSIBLE AS OMNISCIENCE AND IMMORTALITY!

As impossible as a notebook that can end lives through what appears to be magic?

Despite your continuing hostility, I have no interest in being your enemy.

And though I am the one who gave you the notebook, I am not an ally. I will not use my nearly limitless knowledge and significant charisma to aid you in your endeavors.

CG: SO WHY'D YOU GIVE ME THE NOTEBOOK IF YOU HAVE NO INTEREST IN BRINGING JUSTICE TO THE EMPIRE?

To be frank, I have been bored.

CG: YOU'VE BEEN BORED?

CG: SO I'M SUPPOSED TO ENTERTAIN YOU, IS THAT THE GIST OF THE POINT YOU ARE TRYING TO MAKE?!

You do so quite successfully, even when you are not trying to,

Which is always.

CG: ARE YOU ENTIRELY GODDAMN CERTAIN ABOUT THAT?

CG: WHAT IF I JUST STOP THIS HERE?

CG: I'VE ALREADY GOT A SEEMINGLY NON-DEMENTED TROLL ON THE THRONE!

CG: CHANGE HAS BEEN SET IN MOTION, THE REIGN OF IDIOCY IS ENTIRELY FUCKING OVER!

CG: SUPPOSE I JUST BURN THIS NOTEBOOK, SAY I'VE DONE ENOUGH, CANCEL THE KARKAT FIXES THE EMPIRE BY CULLING ASSHOLES SHOW?

CG: WOULDN'T THAT BE BORING?!

Haa haa.

Really, you are quite amusing.

You see, while I am not a gambling man, I am reasonably certain that if I was, I would't bet against Empress Peixes facing a military coup should you stop using the notebook.

She is a young and inexperienced moderate, surrounded by reactionaries. If they didn't fear The Culler's power, I doubt she'd last half a month.

CG: I DON'T REALLY GIVE SO MUCH AS ONE THIRD OF A FUCK ABOUT HER IN PARTICULAR, BUT SHE'S GOT POWER, AND WITHOUT HER I DON'T DOUBT SOMEONE SPECTACULARLY WORSE WOULD HAVE IT INSTEAD.

CG: BUT I SUPPOSE YOU'RE RIGHT, I DO HAVE TO KEEP GOING. IT NEEDS TO BE DONE.

You don't have to.

You could give up the notebook, I suppose.

Your memories of having used the Cull Note would be erased, and you would probably be culled roughly a sweep from now, when you reached adulthood.

But you were right about one thing. That would be boring.

Fortunately, it is not what will actually happen.

CG: SO YOU KNOW HOW THIS ALL IS GOING TO GO?

Yes. To me, and in fact everyone, the future has already happened. Time is not as much a stream as a crystal.

The diffence between us being I know its shape.

CG: THANKS FOR LETTING ME KNOW EVERYTHING IS FUCKING PREDESTINED AND MY CHOICES ARE MEANINGLESS BECAUSE THEY HAVE BEEN CHOSEN FOR ME!

CG: I NEEDED THAT EXTRA EXISTENTIAL QUANDARY SHIT ON TOP OF ALL THIS, REALLY.

You misunderstand. The choices may be determined in advance, but it is still you who will make them.

CG: WELL FANTASTIC, LET'S THROW A GODDAMN PARTY. YOU CAN BRING A CAKE WITH "FREE WILL IS TOTALLY STILL A THING" WRITTEN IN VANILLA FROSTING!

CG: I'LL INVITE MY ONE FRIEND, AND ALSO YOU.

That sounds entertaining.

CG: ARE YOU UNABLE TO COMPREHEND SARCASM?

Hee hee.

I know you were being sarcastic.

I was simply stating that I would in all likelihood enjoy that if it ever did happen, which it won't.

Speaking of your one friend, Kanaya has been messaging you repeatedly while we talked.

You put her trollian chat in the background, your sound was muted, and you completely forgot about her.

If I wasn't omniscient, I would likely be surprised you messed that up.

CG: FUCK!

**Karkat: Respond to Kanaya.**

You cannot respond to Kanaya because she is already offline. You slam your claw on your desk, swearing violently and repeatedly, in a fit of fury directed squarely at your own useless fucking failure of a self. The one troll you care about, and you blew her off to rant at this so-called "Doc Scratch"!

After calming down somewhat, you read the messages from her you missed.

GA: That Is What Many Trolls Have Been Calling Him Or Her

GA: The Culler Is Obviously Hated And Feared By Nearly All Of The High Blooded And Powerful

GA: As Well As Many In The Criminal Elements Of Society Since Many Of The Most Notorious And Dangerous Of Them Have Also Died Inexplicably This Last Week

GA: But Among Many Lowbloods Particularly Online He Or She Has Attained What Could Be Practically Described As A Fan Club

GA: Perhaps Even A Cult In The Style Of Historical Rebellion Of The Signless

GA: In Any Case, It Is Concerning To Me That So Many Would Be Willing To Follow One Who Culled So Many Important Trolls With So Little Hesitation

GA: Particularly When Nothing Else Is Known About Him Or Her

GA: To Summarize I Do Not Approve Of The Cullers Actions

GA: And With The Power To Cull Anyone He Or She Is More Dangerous Than Her Imperious Condescension Ever Was

GA: Karkat Are You There

GA: Usually You Would Have Made Some Colorful Retort By Now

GA: But I Suppose You Have Gone To Do Something Else Now

GA: Presumably Starting A Flame War On The Comments Section Of A GrubTube Video Or Some Other Similar Endeavor

GA: I Suppose We Can Talk Later When You Can Spare The Time

GA: Goodbye

grimAuxiliatrix [GA] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG]

If you felt like an asshole before, which you did, you now feel even worse.

Out of the two primary emotions, hate and pity, Kanaya is the only troll you've interacted with that you didn't hate at all. Friendship may be a sort of platonic pity, but your pity for her is stronger than that.

You used to think you were pale for her, but lately you've been less sure. You could be flushed for her, though you know that would be entirely futile. At this point you almost wish you were still convinced you were an expert in romance, like when you were younger. Then maybe you could make up your fucking mind.

As you wallow in self-hatred and the futility of red romance with someone you're sure you'll never meet, a trollian chat window you'd minimized to respond to Kanaya pops back up to the front of the screen.

Mr. Vantas, you ought to realize by now that the Cull Note's rules can be utilized creatively.

And such ingenuity with the Cull Note could help in getting you off of Alternia alive eventually.

I will contact you again when I feel like it.

You stop and reread this twice, before grabbing the mysterious notebook from your list to read the rules further, looking for ways to exploit them. Perhaps, you think, it's not totally futile after all.


	7. Justice

"In matters of truth and justice, there is no difference between large and small problems, for issues concerning the treatment of trolls are all the same."

- Neophyte Redglare

* * *

Your name is ARADIA MEGIDO.

You are roughly NINE AND A THIRD SWEEPS OLD, and a DETECTIVE. This is a position in law enforcement that is a bit like being a Legislacerator, but less so. You never really were very interested in a life of fighting crime when you were young, but you have KEEN EYE FOR DETAILS, so you wound up being picked for this job by the Imperial Selection Drones. It's a bit like the magic sorting hat in that kids' fantasy series, except it is for careers, and being a legion of robots instead of a single old hat, and they are authorized to neutralize trolls with extreme prejudice if they are deemed unworthy. Thankfully, for the sake of this analogy being stopped before it spirals further out of control, Harry Potter is not a thing in your universe. There is no Troll J.K. Rowling, apparently.

You developed your attention to detail as an AMATEUR ARCHAEOLOGIST on Alternia in your youth, analyzing ancient ruins and such. This was your primary interest for a significant portion of your younger years, and you use a whip as your weapon of choice as a law enforcer mainly because of your enjoyment or Troll Indiana Jones films, which, interestingly enough, are a thing. You have a very small degree of psychic ability in the form of telekinesis, but you're not very good at it.

Your trolltag is apocalypseArisen and there is typically a pr0n0unced h0ll0wness in y0ur t0ne 0f v0ice and v0cabulary that y0u can't quite explain

You are unusual in that, while you have RUST-RED BLOOD, the lowest caste blood color on the hemospectrum, you are still ALIVE and in a POSITION WITH SOME MINOR DEGREE OF AUTHORITY, even if it is mostly only over criminals.

Even more surprisingly, you were hand-picked by an up-and-coming Legislacerator to work on her team. Nearly all you know of her is from what you've observed in the three cases you've worked for her so far. She doesn't go out and investigate crimes herself, but brings together teams - your team for certain, but there could be others - to act as her eyes and ears, bring her information digitally which she proceeds to analyze from afar. Neither you, nor anyone else on the team to your knowledge, has actually met her.

She refers to herself as T, but her trolltag is gallowsCalibrator and she SP34KS W1TH TH3 NUM3R4LS TH3 BL1ND PROPH3TS ONC3 US3D. Whatever that means. You think she may have made that bit up, since you've never heard of any blind prophets in your study of archaeology or history. She seems pretty strange, even for a Legislacerator, yet is also clearly an investigative genius.

The other two members of your team are:

SOLLUX CAPTOR, an introverted, moody, reformed hacker who was tracked down and recruited to help solve your first case working for T. He is extremely skilled at coding and hacking, and happens to be an equally exceptional psychic, even for a gold-blood. He has the unusual, possibly unique passive psychic ability to hear hear voices of the soon-to-be deceased, and occasionally complains that they won't shut the fuck up. You and he have recently began a flushed relationship. His trolltag is twinArmageddons and he tends two 2peak wiith a biit of a lii2p. He denies having tried hacking into the Legislacerator training databases to try and learn more about who T is, but he told you he'll probably try to eventually, if only for the challenge of it.

EQUIUS ZAHHAK, an extremely muscular, kinda creepy blue-blood who, despite his STRONG views in favor of the hemospectrum system, seems to be rather flushed for you. Having been rejected as a potential Archeradicator for being so strong he kept breaking his bows, Equius is basically the muscle for the team. However, he's not dumb, as demonstrated by his exceptional skill with robotics. His trolltag is centaursTesticle and he tends to D - Take e%ception to 100d language unbefitting of b100 b100ds

But enough about them. Now, what will you do?

**Aradia: Converse**

You are staying at a cheap hotel on the planet Tarvinia, waiting for a message from T on your next case. It is a temperate world, with a yellow sun, meaning it is possible to be out in the day hours without being blinded. Still, most trolls don't go out in the Tarvinian daylight, even if it is far safer than bring under the Alternian sun unprotected. But the sun is setting, and you and your matesprit are up early.

Sollux is sitting on the other side of the block. His husktop is open, and he's looking through news feeds, muttering curses under his breath.

"What're you reading about on there?", you ask, already knowing the answer.

"The latest and most exciting in theadweller politics," he replies with more than a hint of sarcasm, not turning his head away from the screen.

"It's interesting, watching them try to put a positive spin on most of the worst of them dropping dead, isn't it?"

"It's fucking hilarious is what what it is, AA. But interesting works too, I guess."

He stretches his scrawny body and yawns. "It is way too damn early at night for me to be up."

"We do have jobs that we are required to be awake for."

Sollux grumbles something to himself, then closes his laptop, picks it up, and stands, turning to face you. He looks at you though his blue and red tinted glasses, and says, "This whole fucking mess with all these important highbloods and criminals dying. What's your take on it?"

"They all died quickly and inexplicably. Not a coincidence, but then, I don't see where an investigation could start. So far as I've heard, there's nothing to go on in terms of evidence. They all just dropped dead. It was probably all done by someone with a new type of psychic power, and you know those are effectively impossible to trace to their source."

"Of course I know that. Anything less thubtle psychically than my fucking eye lasers can't be traced properly, meaning if you can't thee it, you can't follow it. But here's the thing. According to effectively all research about psychic abilities ever, it'd probably be impossible for even Gl'bgolyb itself, the most powerful psychic thing there is, to pull something like this off."

You're skeptical about this claim, but he seems certain. "I thought I'd heard Gl'bgolyb has enough psychic power to kill all life in the galaxy if it used all its psychic power at once?"

"That's just it, AA- the Elder Lusus could probably blast all life in the galaxy if it felt like it, but it's not thubtle, it's not precise. There's rules to this thit. I may be able to use telekinesis, but I couldn't thtop thomeone's heart in their chest like what happened to all those fuckers. It would take a lot of finesse. The more psychic power you have, the less thubtley. It's inverse. And you'd need a thtaggering degree of both to cull multiple trolls all across the galaxy with some new psychic power. Point being, it's tho insane that it'd be thtupid to consider it as possible, except how else do you explain the deaths?"

Both your phones suddenly buzz at the same time. Upon inspection, you each have one new text message.

Your phones buzz again. TH3R3S 4 CR1M1N4L ON T4RV1N14 1V3 W4NT3D TO BR1NG JUST1C3 TO FOR SOM3 T1M3

Then Equius enters your hotel block. He appears have forgotten the door was locked, but his great strength bursts the door open anyway. He looks around sheepishly upon realizing he broke the lock, and breaks into a sweat. A short, awkward silence follows.

All three of your phones buzz. The text reads SO W3 H4V3 4 N3W C4S3! W3 4RE GO1NG TO 4PPR3H3ND TH3 SP1D3R!

Another text message follows immediately after. 4ND YOUD B3ST F1X TH4T LOCK 3QU1US OR 1LL M4K3 YOU P4Y TH3 HOT3L 3XTR4 FOR R3P41RS

After Equius finishes repairing the lock, the three of you depart in his fancy blue hovervehicle, towards Taravi, to await further instruction. The skyscrapers of Taravi, the most populated city on Tarvinia, reach high into the sky, the slums of the city dig deep into the ground, and the outskirts of the city stretch far into the distance. It is an interesting place, but then again, so are most cities. Interesting may be too nice a way of phrasing it, though.

Equius is driving the vehicle, and Sollux is in the side front seat. You sit in the back, as Equius's hovervehicle flies between the countless towers of Taravi. Eventually, after you finally manage to tune out Equius's excited ramblings about the various fine arts of illustrated and sculpted musclebeasts, your phone buzzes. T's number is on the caller ID, but it keeps buzzing- it's not a text message, but an actual call. She's never called before. You answer the phone with a cautious "Hello?"

An unfamiliar but cheery female voice replies, "Hello Aradia! You have weathered the prosecution and have been judged to be worthy! I must say, I am impressed!"

"Uh," you reply, unsure what to say.

"Oh? Uhhhhh?", she responds in a mocking, exaggerated tone, then bursts out into enthusiastic laughter, before continuing. "You are a bit boring, but totally deserving of your rank and position. You've got significant talent, I must confess. Anyway, could put me on speakerphone? I'd like to talk to the boys as well!"

"I suppose so," you say. As you press the button to put it into speakerphone mode, Sollux turns towards you from his seat. "Who were you thpeaking to, AA?" he asks you, apparently trying to make conversation with someone besides Equius. Equius is currently going on about the "outrageous, tragic and brazen" theft of a classic painting of a musclebeast fighting a football player from a museum on Tarvina. Unfortunately he seems to have missed the fact that Sollux doesn't care and seems to be desperately attempting to ignore him.

"Greetings! This is T, giving you your further instructions!"

Equius shuts up about musclebeast paintings, slams the brakes and looks back at you. Sollux just facepalms.

"You are to head back to the hotel you left and meet me in block 413! Sorry about sending you away for a bit, had to make sure I looked presentable. I'm a bit of a wreck that early at night."

She hangs up, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

"Wathn't that block right acroth from ourth, AA?", Sollux asks, clearly exasperated, to the point where his lisp is acting up more than usual.

You put your phone away as Equius turns the hovervehicle around. "Yes, it was. And here I thought she had tapped our blocks."

Equius accelerates his vehicle somewhat. "It would appear we were being stalked by our employer instead. How utterly creepy."

"You do not get to talk about creepy, EQ!", Sollux snaps. "You rambled to me about nude mucthlebeatht art for the latht fucking half hour, and don't think have I haven't noticed you acting all fluthed around AA!"

You frown at your matesprit's ranting. You'd been hoping to politely but firmly turn down Equius's advances next time he tried to woo you. Then again, you can't blame Sollux for being irate.

Equius squeezes the steering wheel, practically crumpling it in his hands. "I-," he begins, and stops. For a second, there is just the hum of the engine. He then asks, slowly and carefully "And how do you feel about this, Aradia?"

"I already have a matesprit, remember, Equius?"

"Then it'th thettled, EQ. I'm in the fluthed quadrant with AA, you aren't. That fucking thimple."

You sigh, and Equius continues to drive. He's clearly upset, but he doesn't say anything for most of the rest of the drive back to the hotel. At one point Equius mutters "Nep is going to be furious I messed up her ship," but you have no idea what he means by this. While it only takes a half hour to get back to the hotel, it feels like longer.

Soon enough you are standing in front of the door to block 413. You knock, and the door opens.

T is standing there, grinning a toothy grin. She's surprisingly young, about your age by all appearances. Her form is lean and angular, and she is wearing heavily red-tinted glasses and leaning on a cane. You'd be shocked if there wasn't a blade hidden in it.

"Why hello, team!", she says. "Come right on in!"

You enter. The block is neatly furnished, with two chairs and a lounge frame spread around a small glass table with a husktop and a bowl of cherries on it. There's a potted plant by the side of the block, and a window in the back. As you walk to the table, you see that the block's kitchen is a mess, with several donuts lying out next to what appears to be a large bottle of red food dye.

You take a seat on the lounge frame, with Sollux at your side. The two of you hold hands. You're quite sure Equius noticed this, as he is sweating somewhat as he takes a seat across from you. He avoids eye contact with you, apparently trying to hide his frustration, if somewhat feebly. Equius may be a creep and an elitist, but you still feel some degree of platonic pity for him; he's incredibly strong, and quite skilled, but he's terribly bad at interacting with other trolls.

Still, you concede that Equius is, despite your misgivings, not a bad troll. He flushed crush on you seems sincere, though you obviously don't reciprocate it at all. He has previously mentioned he has a moirail, which took you by surprise when he first brought it up. He seems to adore her, and despite his repeated claims of highblood superiority, her blood color, while still higher-ranking than yours by far, is allegedly only dark green. You can't recall her name.

T shuts to door to the block and takes the remaining chair. She sits straight up, her posture almost regal. "So," she begins, "I suppose you probably would to know why I've chosen to reveal myself to you now. I am, after all, a notoriously private troll."

Sollux replies sarcastically, "I hadn't noticed."

"Attempting to conceal your observations with a lie will do you no good, Mister Captor! Particularly when your lie stinks of sarcasm!"

Sollux scowls, but you interrupt before he can throw another retort at your employer. "T, sarcasm is saying one thing while making it clear you mean another, so I'm not sure it actually counts as a lie."

T shrugs. "That is semantics, the point is... hmm. We're getting off track, aren't we?"

Equius nods. "Yes, we are. So why have you chosen to meet us in person now? Does this have to do with our next case?"

"How perceptive of you, Detective Zahhak! There is a criminal who I want to bring down, and bring down myself. Well, more than one, actually. But this one's at the top of my list, and I want her behind bars before the Culler can do her in. She goes by the alias The Spider. She's robbed banks and museums, stolen numerous spaceships, and culled quite a few trolls in the process. I knew her, back on Alternia. Her real name is Vriska Serket, and she's the most dangerous troll I've ever met. She's the Spider, I'm sure of it. I think she has another troll working alongside her as well. When we were younger, she coerced this other troll into psychically controlling my lusus, who was then forced into making me to stare into the Alternian sun, blinding me. His name is Tavros Nitram, and a troll matching his description has been spotted helping the in her heists, though she is obviously the mastermind of them, not him."

At this point she takes off her red sunglasses. Her eyes are pure red. She really can't see.

You all gape at T for a couple more seconds. This is a totally shocking revelation that surprises everyone.

"Wait," Sollux says. "How the fuck are you blind? You're a legislacerator. How the fuck did you manage to get that career that if you're blind?"

Equius immediately scolds Sollux for his cursing, but everyone ignores him.

T then answers Sollux's question. "I'm good at it, that's how. In fact, I have a plan to lure her out of hiding already. To do so, I need to get involved more directly myself, so I had to meet you all personally for it."

"I will confront her directly. And I'll need your help in particular for this, Aradia."


	8. Gamble

"A troll is not finished when she is defeated. She is finished when she quits."

- Marquise Spinneret Mindfang

* * *

Your name is VRISKA SERKET and you are a CRIMINAL. You rob banks, museums, and just about anywhere else that has valuables. You're really not in it for the loot though. You are in it for the THRILL. After all, the life of a criminal in the Alternian Empire is a dangerous one. You wouldn't have it any other way. Those buffoons in the media who report your myriad of crimes have dubbed you THE SPIDER, because you leave a calling card with the image of a spider at the scenes of your crimes; at least, at the crimes you want the authorities to know were yours.

You employ numerous strategies to bring these otherwise long odds more in your favor. You are talented at MISDIRECTION and are a SKILLED LIAR, yes, but they're not what make you so EXCEPTIONALLY DANGEROUS. Plenty of trolls are good at deception, after all. There are two things you have that make you far more dangerous than most trolls.

The first of these is the MAGIC CUE BALL, an ancient artifact of dubious origin and questionable purpose once owned by your ancestor, Marquise Spinneret Mindfang. It knows everything has or will ever happen in the universe, but its answers are obscured from the naked eye, as it has no glass section to view the answers through. It would take some kind of Seer to glean knowledge from the omniscient white sphere. Or perhaps someone with VISION EIGHTFOLD. Like you, for instance.

Some things you have learned from the sphere recently include:

1 - Your former FLARP partner, now a Legislacerator, is on Tarvinia and is planning on challenging you to a duel. She thinks she can win, hilariously enough. She leads a small team of investigators, including a hacker with significant psychic power, a calm and rational detective with considerable talent, and a skilled fighter who is also notable for his skill in robotics.

2 - The Moirail of the moderate-minded young Empress, Feferi Peixes, is a fervent hemospectrum elitist named Eridan Ampora. He has long harbored a flushed crush on Peixes, and is violently protective of her. He probably would not take rejection from her well.

3 - The Culler is not a psychic at all, but instead a cynical, angry kid with a notebook of immeasurable magic power. His name is Karkat Vantas, and you have every intention of tormenting him, then taking the culling notebook from him and ending his life. After you deal with the duel, he's next on your list.

You don't ever ask the Magic Cue Ball about the future. It is never wrong, and you're not quite that reckless.

The second reason you are so dangerous is your PSYCHIC MIND CONTROL ability. You make damned sure the authorities don't know you can do that. Many of your schemes and heists involve mind control at some point or another, and you don't want them to take preventative measures. After all, while this is a rare ability, it's not completely unheard of, and it is only really effective on lowbloods, particularly ones with significant insecurities.

Your trolltag is arachnidsGrip and your st8ments tend to 8e just a little 8it overdramaaaaaaaatic.

Oh, and speaking of INSECURE LOWBLOODS, your MATESPRIT is currently trying to get your attention from the other side of your lair. He's a total loser, but he's kinda adorable. You made him jump off a cliff and paralyzed him once, but that was ages ago. His name is TAVROS NITRAM, and he rides a clawbeast now, when he's not in his two-wheel device. He's got a sort of PSYCHIC ANIMAL CONTROL ability himself, and he's pretty good with animals even without using it. He wanted to be a Cavalreaper when he was young, but you kinda dragged him into your life of crime.

His trolltag is adiosToreador and he uHH, sPEAKS IN A SORT OF, uHH, fALTERING MANNER,

Anyway, you'd better go see what Tavros wants to talk about.

**Vriska: Inquire**

As you stand, Tavros starts rolling himself over towards you in his two-wheel device. You meet in the middle of the lair.

"Uh," he begins, "You have, well, a message on, um, trollian."

"Hahahahahahahaha! You're imagining things again, Toreasnore. Like when you thought fairies were real! How could I have possibly gotten a message? I think I'd have noticed!"

You pull out your cellular telecommunication device and show it to him. Zero new trollian messages.

"Yeah, fairies are, um, fake," Tavros replies, in a manner that makes it sound like he's not entirely convinced yet, "but, you see, I just got a message, on my account, for, well, you."

"Ohhhhhhhh?" you say, in a manner that is not overdramatic, but instead the precisely correct amount of dramatic. He shows you his cellular telecommunication device. Onscreen is short conversation between your minion/matesprit and the blind legislacerator. You had figured she'd be contacting you soon.

gallowsCalibrator [GC] started trolling adiosToreador

GC: H3LLO T4VROS N1TR4M!

GC: R3M3MB3R M3?

AT: uHH, sHOULD I?

AT: bECAUSE, iF I AM SUPPOSED TO,

AT: wELL, i DON'T, sORRY, }:(

GC: T3LL VR1SK4 TO UNBLOCK M3

GC: 1 N33D TO T4LK TO H3R

GC: SH3LL R3M3MB3R M3, 4T L34ST

GC: 1 H4V3 4 PROPOS4L FOR H3R

gallowsCalibrator [GC] ceased trolling adiosToreador

You grin, take out your cellular telecommunication device, and prepare to talk to the young Legislacerator. This should be interesting, even though you already know what she wants. She, as you knew her sweeps back, was many things. Boring wasn't one of them.

arachnidsGrip [AG] has unblocked gallowsCalibrator [GC]

AG: Hey!

AG: I'm surprised to see you are still alive!

AG: The imperial drones rarely allow the 8lind to live into adulthood, after all. :::;)

GC: VR1SK4

GC: 1TS B33N 4 LONG T1M3

AG: Oh yes, it's 8een faaaaaaaar too long.

GC: 1 WOULDNT GO TH4T F4R

GC: 1NST34D 1 WOULD S4Y 1T H4S B33N 3X4CTLY TH3 R1GHT 4MOUNT OF T1M3

GC: 4 R3M4TCH 1S 1N ORD3R

AG: Oh?

AG: You informing me of your revenge 8efore you even attempt it?

AG: How 8old!

GC: NOT R3V3NG3

GC: TH4T WOULD 1MPLY TH1S 1S P3RSON4L FOR M3

AG: Of course it is! Our FLARPing cahoots ended on my terms, with you staring into the Alternian sun!

AG: How could a rematch 8e anything 8ut revenge?

GC: S1MPL3

GC: 1 4M 4 L3G1SL4C3R4TOR. 1 S33K JUS1C3, 4ND YOU 4R3 QU1T3 TH3 CR1M1N4L, SP1D3R

AG: So you haaaaaaaave 8een paying attention to me.

GC: 1F YOU 4ND T4VROS N1TR4M M33T M3 AND MY S3COND 1N TH3 PURPL3 BOX W4R3HOUS3, BY TH3 W4T3RFRONT 34ST OF T4R4V1, 4T N1GHTF4LL TOMORROW, W3 W1LL H4V3 4 DU3L

AG: Hahahahahahahaha! Wow! A duel! What are the terms, Neophyte?

GC: TH4T 1S TO B3 D3C1D3D BY OUR S3CONDS

GC: D1D 1 4SSUM3 CORR3CTLY TH4T YOU W1LL B3 S3L3CT1NG T4VROS TO B3 YOURS?

AG: 8ut of course! He may be a loser, but he's not a fool.

AG: He's really improved in the whole not-8eing-totally-useless department!

GC: SUCH H1GH PR41S3

GC: DO YOU 4CC3PT MY CH4LL4NG3?

AG: And hoooooooow do I know you won't have a whole squad of enforcers at the warehouse w8ing to am8ush me?

GC: 1 W1LL DU3L F41RLY

GC: YOU KNOW WH4T MY WORD 1S WORTH

GC: 4ND 1 KNOW WH4T YOURS 1S WORTH 4S W3LL

AG: I'll 8e there, then.

AG: Don't worry, I won't cheat.

AG: I won't need to. :::;)

arachnidsGrip [AG] has ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC]

You are going to cheat, of course.

It's not that you need to, obviously. You could totally take that skinny blind weirdo in a fight any night of the week, you're sure of it. It's more on principle, really. You've lied and cheated your whole life, and you're not gonna stop for her sake. The real question is: how?

When you and her were the notorious FLARP duo, the "Scourge Sisters", you always tried to keep your trumps cards hidden from her. You manipulated trolls, lying to them, leading them unaware to their graves. Often a psychic "nudge" was required for your enemies to fall into your traps. Sometimes you had "inside info" on opposing FLARP teams, as provided by the Magic Cue Ball. But you didn't let her in on your secrets, and you made a point of not letting her figure them out.

The point being, you still have your trump cards, and it's not like you plan on letting her live anyway, so you might as well make use of them.

So you consult the Magic Cue Ball, and it tells you exactly what you wanted to hear. Her second is the rustblood Detective, Aradia Megido. A good shot with a pistol. Skilled with a whip. And most importantly, totally susceptible to mind control.

It's almost daybreak by now, and you'll have to get some sleep soon if you're to be there, awake and rested, by nightfall.

You cuddle up next to Tavros in the recuperacoon you share. He dozes off before you do, and mumbles in his sleep. Eventually you lose consciousness as well. You dream of your lusus, demanding to be fed. You dream of those whose lives you have ended. Doubts and regrets bubble to the surface. Briefly, in the dream, you wonder if things could have been different somehow.

A bit before nightfall, you wake. Tavros is up already, and he smiles at you. It looks almost sincere. The memory of the dream fades, and is gone.

**Vriska: Confront**

As you enter your hovervehicle, Tavros starts fidgeting, nervously tapping his fingers along the side of his two-wheel device. That's your matesprit for you. Oh well. You've tried to toughen him up in the past, but it never really seems to work.

The area seems largely abandoned by trolls. You only see a couple trolls as you approach the warehouse, and they all seem to be living in poverty. The warehouse come into sight soon enough. It is an old metal rectangle, a bland and rusted building. You park the hovervehicle by it and approach the entrance.

You enter through the wide metal gate, Tavros wheeling himself in behind you. Just as the Magic Cue Ball had said, the Legislacerator and the detective are there. The warehouse is empty, except for the four of you, and a small, ornate box on the floor in the center of the room. Your old acquaintance is grinning. As far as you can tell, she is unarmed. Aradia, on the other hand, is quite clearly armed with a pistol.

"Helloooooooo Terezi!", you begin, in greetings to your old FLARP partner. She immediately stops grinning, and the detective looks over at her as if seeking an explanation. You know what this is about already, but you feign having just now figured it out.

"Terezi Pyrope. By the look on your second's face, you'd think she didn't know your name previously! Have you been working under a fake name? An alias perhaps? Wow, you really must be paranoid!"

"I prefer the term 'cautious'," She mutters. "Really, I just want to get this duel over with and bring you into custody. My next case is going to be far more interesting than dealing with you."

"Oh? Petty insults aside, what could be so much more interesting that a showdown like this after so many sweeps?"

She's grinning again. Her response actually manages to catch you off guard.

"I'm going to catch the Culler."

You want to laugh at her. You want gloat about how you already have the answer to that riddle. You want to tell her that he's some ornery little shit on Alternia; a self-hating loser who is so far in over his head it's almost funny.

You don't say anything. Instead you merely smirk.

Aradia seems to be trying to put on a stoic face. She's doing a pretty good job of it, considering her boss just announced plans to go after someone who, as far as they know, can cull anyone anywhere with total impunity. She is afraid though, you can tell.

"Aradia," Terezi says, "please announce our proposed terms for this duel."

The detective steps forward. "The duel between the Legislacerator T and the criminal Vriska Serket will be a duel of blades. The swords are in the box in the center of the room. Vriska is to be given first choice of which of the identical blades to use. The participants duel until either party is culled, or otherwise clearly defeated to the winner's satisfaction. So long as there is no foul play, Tavros Nitram will be free to go, should Vriska lose the duel. Are these terms acceptable?"

You nod your head, and Tavros replies "Yeah, I, um, think so."

Terezi points at the box in the center of the room with her cane. "Take your blade and then back up five paces."

You walk over to the box. The Magic Cue Ball had told you Terezi was not planning on cheating, so you don't have to worry. You quickly pick up the rapier, and back up five steps, as requested. It seems like an easy enough blade to wield, and you've got plenty of experience. Not that it really matters. You can hardly wait, but an ideal victory is a reward gained from patience. There'll be plenty of time to gloat when it's over, before you finish her.

Terezi takes her blade, then tosses her cane to the side of the side of the warehouse. She backs up and twirls the sword a couple times before pointing it in your direction.

You ready your blade in front of you, and Aradia counts down from three. You can't help but smile.

When she says go, you immediately mind-control her, forcing the detective to point her gun right at her boss's back.

And then you make her pull the trigger.

There is a distinct lack of a gunshot, and Terezi charges forward. You barely manage to defend yourself from her blade.

Her swordstrollship is remarkable. You can barely believe she's blind. It seems her smellovision or whatever the fuck it's called is good enough that she can match you in this duel. She's just as fast as you are, and apparently about as skilled.

This is bad, obviously.

The gun in Aradia's hand isn't going off. You make her pull the trigger, again, with the same damn result. You need to focus all you've got on winning this swordfight, so you release your control on her. You parry another thrust from Terezi. You don't have time to be on the defensive, but you are.

Tavros is starting to panic, asking you what he should do. You're a bit too busy to respond. Aradia has pulled out a telecommunication device. You hear the engine of a large vehicle landing behind you, outside the warehouse.

It's at this point you realize you are probably not getting out of here as a free troll. They know you tried to cheat; somehow, Terezi knew your plan. For a moment, you consider running for it. You might be able to get away, But that would be an admission of defeat. Besides, you don't want to leave Tavros to fend for himself. They'll take him in, and they'll break him to pieces.

No. You won't let that happen. You will not be defeated, not here, not now, and certainly not by her.

You parry strike after strike, until you think you see an opening. With a snarl, you lunge forward, going for the kill.

She dodges to the side, and, moving altogether too quickly, punches you in face. You fall to the ground, letting out a cry that is more surprise than pain. Terezi stomps down on your wrist, and your blade hand goes limp in a flash of agony. You scream, and you know now that you've lost.

Seven robots march out of the just-landed hovervehicle. Two of them stop in front of Tavros, who is trying to slip away unnoticed on his two wheel device. A third one handcuffs him.

The rest of them are surrounding you. Terezi steps away as the robots close in around you.

"Vriska, I've read the history books." She says. "I know how Neophyte Redglare died, how your Ancestor culled her. Mind control. Did you think I didn't know you could do that? I figured it out sweeps ago. I just needed to make sure there was one obvious way to cheat, and make sure it wouldn't actually work."

You're seeing spades.

The robots pick you up and handcuff you. They drag you into the large hovervehicle parked over the bay. A vessel this size might be spaceworthy, you realize. Tavros and you are locked in the brig, separate cells. You wonder where you are headed.

You have been defeated, but you're not going to quit. This is not the end of your story. You won't let it be.


	9. Messiah

"If the time of death is written within 40 seconds after writing the cause of death as a heart attack, the time of death can be manipulated, and the time can go into effect within 40 seconds after writing the name."

"The conditions for death will not be realized unless it is physically possible for that troll or it is reasonably assumed to be carried out by that troll."

"One page taken from the Cull Note, or even a fragment of the page, contains the full effects of the note."

- Rules number 6, 7, and 8 of the Cull Note

* * *

**Karkat: Dream**

You wander through a desert. There was a terrible battle here. You can smell the corpses burning. It's a cruel and vulgar stench. There is a flag, ripped and torn, atop a dune.

The world shifts, and you see a troll in burning chains. They have broken his body and his pride. He screams something you cannot hear. An arrow flies, and bright red blood spills over the sand.

The blood pools and shines and in the reflective surface you see faces, people, memories that you do not recognise. A devoted disciple hanging on to every word of a story, a caring lusus in the shape of an adult troll. You dip your finger in the blood, swirling it around, confusing and distorting the memories.

Lifting your claw out of the pool you see the blood on your hand is your own, bleeding out of chafed and burnt wrists. You know they are coming to get you so you run. You run across the dunes until they turn into grassy hills, until you reach a fork in the road you didn't realise you were walking on.

The two paths lead in opposite directions, one to the burning chains you know you are fated for, one to a shining throne you know you must reach. They are still following you, chasing you, hunting you down. You kneel down on the brick path and begin to draw symbols, sigils, letters on the ground in an attempt to ward them off.

As you write the brick becomes paper, your blood turns to ink and name after name appear on the page. You don't look up as you hear them close in on you, and by the time you realise that one of them has you, the ground has already fallen out from under your feet.

There is a sharp force around your neck and you sit up in your recuperacoon, breathing heavily, taking in air that your dream had denied you of. Groggily, you remove yourself from the sopor slime. You wonder what the fuck was with that weird-ass dream. At least this means you managed to get some fucking sleep for once.

You meander over to the restblock in your hive and soak in the ablution trap. The water is warm and relaxing, but not quite relaxing enough to make you feel remotely close to good about yourself. Cutting off the Empire's head hasn't fixed the rot in its core. You may have got the aristocracy running scared, but it's not enough. There are still the everyday brutalities that the oppressed must endure, and you can't cull all of those who commit them. There are simply too many douchebags out there to make an example of every single one.

Actually, there's an idea; make an example out of them. If you can't Cull Note all those who deserve it, cull enough of them that those remaining will be afraid to commit further crimes against the oppressed, for fear they could be next to die. And you've got plenty of time to write. This is practically a full-time commitment by now. It's a big Empire, after all.

You dry off and get dressed in your respiteblock. Then, you start to boot up your husktop and open the notebook, taking a seat at your desk. You've got 5 pages full already.

At the start, you were mostly culling the powerful, cruel and corrupt. The first page of your notebook is filled with the names of the largely sadistic seadweller nobility. Then you got to work ending the leaders of the ridiculously fucking stupid but nonetheless vastly dangerous and hateful Cult of the Mirthful Messiahs. You wiped out the top three levels of their church this last week, and if anyone tries to take over after them, you'll cull them too. Fucking clowns and their inane false gods can all rot, so far as you are concerned.

Now, you've mostly been writing in names from places online where trolls who support you have been reporting incidents of unjust cullings. There are plenty of highbloods who have been taking out their anger over your actions on those they have power over, foolishly thinking they can keep it quiet. Should someone report them online, you look up what the dumb shits look like via the internet, and cull them, one moronic asshat at a time. You've also been ending other particularly disgusting piles of filth who catch your eye, but there's really so many unjust cullings and abuses of power that you don't have time to cull trolls for more minor offenses.

When your husktop is fully booted up, you open up the major news sites to browse first. You don't expect them to be reporting any such crimes of oppression, as the only options are the Imperial News Network, or sites privately operated by wealthy douchebags who clearly have a pro-imperial bias. You'll probably get around to wiping them out at some point, you figure.

As you browse through headlines, you notice many of them are obituaries for those you've culled. They were all scum so far as you could tell, but they get referred to here as "Distinguished and Honorable Nobility". Yeah, such repulsive bullshit. You didn't cull anyone who didn't fucking deserve it.

At the bottom of the page, you see a link. "Subjugglator Training Vessel Missing in Mirthless Mutiny," it reads. You click the link, and read. It's pretty fucking interesting; a highblooded subjugglator trainee leading unsanctioned cahoots against the Empire. Most of the crew was culled, but there are a few hostages. Apparently this whole fiasco just leaked publically, after higher-ups failed to cover it up over the last couple days.

You read the names of the victims, the hostages, and the mutineers. Then, you have an idea.

You quickly grab a pen, hovering it in the air just above the page as you mentally compose the death of your next victim. The death that would bring you into contact with what could be the first of your allies. You glance up at the report again, affixing a name and a face in your mind, then begin to write.

_Cendri Rakari, Bloodpump failure_

_Dies after screaming for attention from his captors then biting the veins on his wrist open and writing the following message on the wall with his blood. 'I THINK WE NEED TO TALK. cruelGuardian'_

You stare at the latest death sentence for a few seconds, bloodpump racing despite you having done nothing more than writing a few words on a page. Then you throw the pen back on the desk and reach over to you husktop. Minimizing your browser, you make the alternate account on Trollian that you named in the message. You encrypt it through some proxy servers, and give it a font color you think will fit.

You quickly get bored of just sitting and waiting so you bring the websites back up and start on your task of culling the unjust and unworthy. The names seem to flow from your pen and onto the page, their deaths assured as soon as you have written them. You become so caught up in your task, your mission, that it takes a minute or two for you to notice that a small purple dot is contacting you.

terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling cruelGuardian [CG]

TC: iS tHiS wHo I mOtHeRfUcKiNg ThInK iT iS?

TC: wait a second, quirk feels all wrong.

TC: MY OLD QUIRK FELT ALL KINDS OF MESSED THE MOTHERFUCK UP.

TC: weird. all better now though. :o)

CG: I AM HERE TO ANNOUNCE THAT YOU HAVE BEEN NOTICED.

CG: YOUR VIOLENT AND MUTINOUS ACTIONS AGAINST THE CREW OF BEGOTTEN ARE A WELL-PLACED SPIT IN THE FACE OF THE EMPIRE.

CG: I LIKE THAT.

TC: SLOW DOWN.

TC: didn't answer my motherfucking question there.

TC: ARE YOU

TC: god? :o)

You stare at the message for a second. This wasn't quite how you expected this to go. You think you'd best play along and see where this goes.

CG: YES THAT'S EXACTLY CORRECT. YOU'VE FIGURED OUT THE WHOLE THING.

CG: THAT'S ME. I'M GOD. THE ACTUAL MESSIAH.

TC: WOAH.

TC: totally motherfucking called it.

Well, fuck. He actually believes that. This could get annoying.

CG: WHAT DO THEY DO TO YOUR FUCKING THINKPANS UP THERE? LIQUIFY THEM AND USE THE RESULTING OOZE AS OINKBEAST SLOP?

TC: SURE FEELS THAT WAY.

TC: they spoil our think pans with music and words and motherfucking

TC: BLASPHEMOUS

TC: thoughts about bogus messiahs.

TC: BUT I WOULDN'T LISTEN.

TC: because i saw the truth.

TC: I SAW THE MOTHER FUCKING TRUTH.

TC: and the truth is you.

TC: YOU ARE THE TRUE GOD, THE ONLY MESSIAH, COME TO RAIN HOLY PUNISHMENT DOWN ON THE DISBELIEVERS,

TC: the undeservers,

TC: THE MOTHER FUCKING UNWORTHY.

TC: until this empire is cleansed.

TC: OF THE ROT AND FILTH THAT GROW WITHIN.

TC: that think they can rule and get away with whatever they like.

TC: BUT NO MORE.

TC: because of you. :o)

You are slightly stunned by this, you didn't expect to find any followers so soon, never mind one that believed you were a god. The insult had been an automatic deflection, sent before your thinkpan could process what was happening, but it seems like your new ally didn't mind or even notice the jab. You make a mental note not to overestimate his intelligence.

CG: THAT'S THE AIM.

CG: TO RID THE EMPIRE OF THOSE WHO CULL UNJUSTLY, TAKE WHAT THEY DON'T NEED OR OTHERWISE GO AGAINST WHAT OUR SOCIETY *SHOULD* BE ABOUT.

CG: THE QUESTION IS:

CG: ARE YOU GOING TO HELP ME?

TC: YES.

TC: oh motherfuck

TC: YES.

TC: i am yours to command god.

TC: WE WILL RID THE WORLDS OF THE SCUM

TC: and the motherfuckers who do not

TC: RESPECT

TC: your word as the new law.

CG: GOOD.

CG: FOR NOW: DON'T GET CAUGHT. THERE'LL BE A FUCKTON OF SHIPS COMING AFTER YOU SO UNLESS YOU HAVE THE WEAPONS TO BLOW HALF THE IMPERIAL NAVY TO ATOMS I'D ADVISE YOU TO STAY LOW.

TC: AS YOU WISH

TC: but i'll spread the word.

TC: I CAN'T BE THE ONLY MOTHERFUCKER THAT SEES THE BOGUS MESSIAHS FOR WHAT THEY REALLY ARE.

TC: i'll spread your word and the

TC: FEAR

TC: of the one true god.

TC: GET THE MOTHER FUCKING MESSAGE OUT THERE.

TC: see if i can't get a few more motherfuckers on your side. :o)

CG: NICE TO SEE *SOMEONE* OUT THERE TAKING SOME INITIATIVE.

TC: HONK :o)

CG: ANYWAY. DON'T CONTACT ME AGAIN UNLESS IT'S AN EMERGENCY.

CG: IF I NEED ANYTHING I'LL MESSAGE YOU.

cruelGuardian [CG] ceased trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]

You lean back, breathing heavily. This could be easier than you thought. He may be a crazy ex-clown worshipper who thinks you're god but he's stolen an imperial ship so he's a powerful crazy ex-clown worshipper. Who thinks. You're. God.

_God..._

You could get used to that.


	10. Strength

"A musclebeast! A musclebeast! My kingdom for a musclebeast!"

- Troll Richard III

* * *

You are now EQUIUS ZAHHAK, and you are in the common area of T's spacecraft, drinking some milk out of a metal cup. You can see Aradia and Sollux sitting at opposite ends of a small table at the other end of the room, silently playing what appears to be an intense game of chess. You're not paying enough attention to see who is winning.

As you finishing your cup of milk, the door to the common area behind you slams open. This startles you to the degree that you wind up crushing the now-empty cup in your fist. You put the wrecked cup down on the table as gently as you can manage, and turn to see T in the open doorway, looking more frustrated than you've seen her before. She sits down next to you, and lets out a long, exasperated sigh, looking down at the table. Sollux lets out a curse from the other end of the room, stands up, and walks over towards yourself and T, followed by Aradia.

"Ugh. AA ith way too good at cheth, it'th totally ridiculouth! I'm supposed the be the damn geniuth around here."

You look back and forth between the two of them. Aradia beat Sollux at chess? You knew the lovely young rustblood girl was remarkably talented, but this still comes as a surprise to you. You'd expect Sollux to be the best at that sort of game.

"There's more than one kind of genius, Sollux. You're far better with technology than I have ever been."

"Well, yeah. That'th obviouth. Theriouthly though, how the fuck did you beat me like that?"

Aradia looks thoughtful for a moment, and replies with a confident smile."Your tactics were quite solid, but it was reasonably clear you didn't have a lot of strategy beyond just trying to take my pieces."

T raises her head and says "The Culler has the same problem." This draws an odd look from everyone in the room, yourself included.

"I think it's reasonably clear that the Culler is not a god or otherwise supernatural entity," she continues. "What sort of god smites and does exactly nothing else? It's a troll who is doing this, somehow. And that troll's agenda isn't entirely clear yet."

You speak up. "While it is reasonable to exclude the the possibility that The Culler is some omnipotent deity, how do we know it is a troll, and not some other being we do not know of? After all, no troll has ever been reported to have a type of psychic power this precise and formidable."

"The Culler's crimes have mostly been against political officials and nobility, along with the leadership of the Mirthful Church. These crimes are meant not just to end the lives of countless trolls, but also to make a statement. These are the crimes of someone with a clear grudge against the Empire, so naturally it is probably a troll. When I said that The Culler's agenda isn't totally clear, I mean I can't deduce his or her endgame, or what precisely they mean to personally gain from their appalling crimes. The Culler's motivation, on the other claw, is clearly political; strongly opposed to the Imperial power structure, and against the Hemospectrum. While I don't entirely disagree with this perspective, the idea of culling one's way to a better society is a dangerous sort of madness that cannot be allowed to spread."

You scowl. It seems that the order of the Hemospectrum is not well-respected among your peers. Even T does not support it! You grimace at the thought before quickly rearranging your features into your more usual look of blank-faced regality. While not as high-blooded as you, her blood is teal, and therefore far better than the rest of the the team. While talented, they are such… peasants. Truly degenerate, especially the lovely Ms Megido. She is really amazing, to have earned a place as an officer of the law, despite her rust-colored blood. It is shameful that you were unable to woo her, you cannot believe she has chosen the hacker over yourself. It would be best not to dwell on it, you think.

T shakes her head. "Anyway, that's my initial analysis. I've got several ideas to narrow down where the Culler is, but I'm going to need to think on it more."

Sollux yawns, and asks, "What about the prithonerth? You dethided what to do with thoth fuckerth yet?"

T frowns. "I had figured that I could get most of the info on where Vriska kept all her stolen wealth by interrogating Tavros, but it turns out he doesn't even know where hardly any of it is hidden. Either she doesn't trust him, or she figured he'd get caught eventually and talk. I just came here after escorting him back to his cell."

"Are you sure he was not lying?" you ask. "Lowbloods often break easier under advanced interrogation."

T sighs. "I don't need to torture him, Equius. Tavros Nitram really doesn't know anything useful. He wasn't lying, I'm sure of it. As for Vriska; I know her, she's got so much pride she'd not talk to us under any sort of pressure. There's no point in even bothering. I'm going to go back to my respiteblock and think for a while. Surely there's something useful I can get out of these prisoners."

She leaves the common area, and soon enough Sollux and Aradia are playing chess again. You suspect you are feeling as frustrated as T, though not due to the pointlessness of interrogating a prisoner who knows nothing useful. You look over at Aradia - she appears to be winning at chess again. That lovely lowblood detective, she stole your heart away without even trying, and refuses to return it, nor pay it any mind. With all your STRONGNESS, you still cannot crush your feelings for her.

Your mobile telecommunication device vibrates in your pocket. Your moirail appears to be trying to reach you.

Hopefully she can cheer you up. 

arsenicCatnip [AC] began trolling centaursTesticle [CT]

AC: :33 *ac prepares to pounce ct*

CT: D - - Good evening

AC: :33 *ac leaps towards ct claws outstretched*

CT: D - I have no desire to partake in this nonsensical game

CT: D - While at some times I may make an e%ception

CT: D - This is not one of those times

AC: :33 *ac growls with furstration*

AC: :33 rawrgh!

AC: :33 i just wanted to give you a big hug!

CT: D - Whether you e%pected to give me a hug is irrelevant

CT: D - You still must wait another half sweep before you leave Alternia

CT: D - You have my permission to hug me then

AC: :33 its good to know i have purrmission!

AC: :33 but half a sw33p is soooo long, and i dont know how well manage m33t up once im out there in the big old galaxy :((

CT: D - I will find a way to make it happen, do not fret

CT: D - My confidence in that is STRONG

CT: D - However I wish to discuss something else with you

AC: :33 *ac excitedly wags her tail in anticipurrtion*

CT: D - E%citement is not the correct emotion

CT: D - The lovely rustb100d and that degenerate foul-mouthed hacker have entered into a flushed relationship

AC: :33 :((

AC: :33 the nerve! sinking my ships and stealing the troll of your dreams from you!

CT: D - Yes, it is e%tremely frustrating

CT: D - He, unlike Aradia, is moody, vulgar, arrogant, and a bit of a t001

CT: D - He mocks and disregards the hemospectrum openly

CT: D - I really do not like him at all

AC: :33 *ac strokes her whiskers, pondering*

AC: :33 but you are flushed for aradia

AC: :33 whos even lower on the hemeowspectrum than he is

CT: D - Well yes

CT: D - But she is a lovely troll

CT: D - Quite the anomaly among those of her blood

CT: D - She is not vulgar, rude, or otherwise unpleasant

CT: D - In fact her manner is almost regal

CT: D - It is 100di% that she is of a hue so low

AC: :33 *ac raises an eyebrow*

AC: :33 purrhaps you shouldnt take the hemeowspectrum so literally

AC: :33 maybe then she would like to be your matespurrit more!

CT: D - Do not be f001ish

CT: D - If I did not adhere to the laws of b100d then not just my own life but the whole team w001d go to wreck and ruin

CT: D - Which is e%actly why I must be the voice of reason

AC: :33 ugh!

AC: :33 i know that its impurrtant but following the hemeowspectrum like a woolbeast cant be your whole life

CT: D - Yes it can

AC: :33 no it cant

CT: D - Yes

AC: :33 no

CT: D - Yes

AC: :33 no

CT: D - Yes

AC: :33 no

CT: D - Yes

AC: XOO no!

AC: XOO you cant just blindly follow a stupid set of rules without thinking about them just beclaws some idiot with purple blood told you to!

AC: XOO you cant just judge efuryone you m33t on their blood color alone!

CT: D - Nepeta

CT: D - What you are saying here c001d be considered treason

CT: D - I order you to stop

AC: XOO no

CT: D - Yes

AC: XOO no

CT: D - Yes

AC: XOO enough!

CT: D - Nepeta as much as I respe%t your judgement as my moirail I urge you to think about what you have been saying

CT: D - As much as I w001d like to stand by my personal beliefs I am also saying this to prote%t you

CT: D - Now I must trot off

CT: D - Among other things required of me I must also find a towel

AC: :33 ugh fine

AC: :33 but dont think youre getting out off this f33lings jam furever buster!

CT: D - Very well

CT: D - Goodbye

centaursTesticle [CT] ceased trolling arsenicCatnip [AC] 

Heading to your respiteblock, your mind seethes. You care for Nepeta greatly. She is your lifeline in the galaxy, the one you care about the most. If only she would see reason, understand that the Mother Grub and the Empire has a place for all trolls. The Hemospectrum has worked well the common good for sweeps untold. Without it, if anyone could choose to do whatever they wished, the Empire would cease to function, and all would be lost. You've tried explaining this to your moirail before, of course, but she does not listen. You are concerned it may be the fact that she is a mid-blood that gives her a rebellious streak. But then again, your moirail is more vocally opposed to the Hemospectrum than rustblooded Aradia is.

As you enter your block, you quickly grab your towel, and wipe your face off. All these disagreements have done little but make you sweaty and frustrated. Sometimes you feel like you are surrounded by anarchists, rebels, and fools. You know this is not true, of course - you have no reason to doubt T or her loyalty to the Empire, despite her casual dismissal of the Hemospectrum's order. Besides, she is superior in rank, if not in blood. Aradia Megido is a troll of loyalty and integrity, despite her low hatching. Nepeta you cannot help but trust, despite your differences. Sollux Captor, though…

You do not like Sollux Captor. He is vulgar, sarcastic, and openly critical of not just the Hemospectrum, but of the Empire as a whole. It would not be so bad if he was merely critical of the seadweller nobility, as the animosity between land and sea is normal, and part of the way of the Empire. But his disdain is for the entirety of the order of society. He used to be a criminal himself, even! It was only T's decision that he could be useful that saved him from the gallows as a hacker.

Putting your towel down, you look at yourself in your mirror. Your dark glasses are cracked from when you put them on earlier this evening, and your face is somewhat less sweaty than before. Reaching out, you lightly move your claw across the reflection of your face in the mirror. Unfortunately, what for you is "lightly", most would considered crushingly STRONG. The surface of the mirror cracks ever so slightly across the reflection your face, and you pull your claw back. That was clearly a bad idea, in retrospect. Oh well.

You turn and leave your respiteblock, trying to put your frustrations out of mind. When you arrive in the common area once more, you see Sollux sitting across from the chess set, looking bored. He looks up as you enter the room, peering at you through his red and blue shaded spectacles, and smiles a cocky grin.

"Hey, EQ. Up for a game?"

"A game? If you are referring to playing chess, then no, I have better ways to spend my time than by fooling around playing trivial games with lowbloods," you reply, trying to keep the sneer out of your voice and failing.

"Well, that'th a thame, here I wath looking to fucking win for onthe."

"Do not curse at me, lowblood."

"That curthing wathn't direcated at you. But you know, how about thith; I'll stop curthng in your presenthe if you can beat me at cheth."

"I do not need to bargain with you. I command you to stop."

"Or_ fucking_ what? You gonna take your anger out on me, uthe your 'great thtrongness' to beat me to a literal bloody pulp? What do you think AA would think of that?"

You know the answer to this question. If you cull Sollux Captor, Aradia would not so much as speak to you ever again. You may be well within your rights as a highblood to end a disrespectful lowblood, but it would make a wreck of Aradia. She would hate you, and you have no interest in her for that quadrant. Besides, T would be angry, and you don't want to make an enemy of your boss.

"Fine", you say. "A game of chess it is."

14 moves in, you've lost. Sollux is wearing a gleeful smirk, and you very much want to smash it in. However, you do not. You must remain calm and composed. You don't want to wind up thoughtlessly cruel like so many seadwellers. It is counterproductive.

Finally, you manage to say "This game is poorly designed."

"It'th thtood the tetht of time well enough. Been around for a thouthand thweeps or thomething."

"The musclebeast pieces are clearly underpowered compared to their their true strongness."

Sollux attempts to stifle a laugh, poorly. "Ith that why you lotht tho fucking badly?"

"You have no right to speak to me that way, lowblood."

Sollux sighs, and takes off his glasses. He look right at you with those mismatched eyes. "EQ. It'th pathetic, watching you pompouthly claim you don't like me due to the fucking hemothpectrum. You're fluthed for my matethprit and she's ath lowblooded ath trollth even get. Why can't you jutht admit that the hemothpectrum ith meaningleth? You don't like me due to me being an athhole who ith in the quadrant you want to be in with AA. That'th all there ith to it."

You are starting to sweat again. You start to speak, but in your frustration, you change your mind. Your dignity has been assaulted enough, you think.

Turning, you walk away. You have no interest in enduring more of Sollux Captor. He mutters yet another curse at you as you do so; you pretend not to hear it.

It would be bad form to bother T about the insolent lowblood while she is pondering what to do with the prisoners. Discussing these issues with Aradia or even Nepeta would likely be of no use; Aradia would not appreciate complaints about her matesprit, and Nepeta would pressure you to change your views, to abandon the system. She cares… but she is misguided.

Really, what you want to do is escape. You wish you could take the shuttle and fly away into the void. But you would be remiss of your duties if you did. You are a highblood, and it would not be proper of you to quit, to leave this all behind you. You must be STRONG.

You wind your way through the ship, in the direction of the brig. Your heavy footfalls reverberate and echo off the metal corridors, turning one set of feet into a legion. Mind spinning and whirling, attempting to process and bring order to your conflicting emotions, you jab a finger at the keypad that will open the brig door. On the third number the supposedly strong plastic interface shatters under your rough treatment and your claw goes straight through the panel. You quickly stifle an unbecoming yelp as a burst of electricity crackles up your arm before quickly redrawing the finger and inspecting the damage to the keypad.

"Oh, fiddlesticks," you curse under your breath.

The whole panel has broken into sharp shards with a rounded hole replacing the number five key where your finger had gone through. You breathe a heavy sigh and trek back several metres along the corridor to the nearest order interface and delivery chute. Quickly, and carefully, keying in the items you need you wait only a few seconds before a hiss of air announces that they had arrived in the pneumatic delivery system.

Picking up the bundle of tools and parts you walk back to the broken keypad and begin the task of fixing it. However many sweeps it has been since you had the chance to work on anything mechanical you still haven't lost your touch. You work at a gentle pace, letting letting your mind go nearly blank as you try to focus on the electronic device. Your breathing slows to a calming rhythm of in and out, in and out. By the time your work is complete you feel a lot more relaxed than earlier.

You return the tools and the broken parts of the panel to the delivery chute, letting the ship's systems sort them out, then go to key in the code a second time. The door slides open without incident revealing another corridor, this one just too brightly lit to be comfortable. Three-walled rooms branch out from the hallway, two on each side. Both end cells are occupied, however; a slight shimmering in the air the only indicator that the electro-barrier was activated.

Walking to the end of the short corridor you check on the prisoners. Nitram is curled up in one corner of the near-empty cell, forehead resting on his knees and arms wrapped around his legs, obviously asleep. Slight brown stains can be seen marring his cheeks, remnants of where tears had dried during his nap. You curl up your nose at the pathetic sight and shy away from his room slightly, heading to the opposite one instead.

Serket was leaning against a side wall of her cell, arms crossed over her body, the smirk on her face doubling in size once you turn to look at her.

"Soooooooo…" she drawls. "I was wondering how long it would be before you got your blue butt down here. Come to sneer at the underlings, have you?"

"I assure you, I have merely come down to check on the prisoners," you reply curtly, already feeling a bit riled up by Serket's accusations. "It is part of my job to make sure that all prisoners are in a fit condition to face the justice they deserve and as the others are...busy...I have taken it upon myself to make sure that you and the rustblood are adequately provided for.

"Ohhhhhhhh, they didn't want you up there so you came down here to hide from them, is that it?"

"That is most certainly not 'it'! I have explained my reasons for visiting and I do not need a criminal like you jumping to false conclusions about my actions. Good day!" And with that you whirl around and begin to stomp out of the brig, your quelled anger returning.

"I'm right though, aren't I?"

You pause, finger held just above the keypad, ready to type in the numbers that would open the door but not quite able to do so. Her voice had seemed so quiet, so sincere, so...empathetic. You turn slowly and look at the Cerulean-blood again. She is now standing just behind the electro-barrier, leaning as close as she can get without being shocked, looking at you with something verging on pity in her eyes.

"They don't want you up there because you don't act like them, right?" she continues as you slowly walk closer. "You don't think like them, you don't get along with them. The only reason they keep you around is because you're high enough to get past barriers the rest of them can't and strong enough to do the same thing. They don't appreciate you for what you can do, don't listen to what you have to say."

By now you're standing right in front of her, staring straight into her mismatched eyes. Only a small gap of shimmering air separates you. She smirks slightly, the mischievous spark in her eyes burning through the empathy and you are enraptured with the blue of her irises, a blue so close to yours.

"But what if there was a way for you to change all that?" she asks finally and the thought that drifts through your thinkpan is immediately quashed by the certainty that things will turn out as they should. The thought that you are in way over your head.

It occurs to you first that it's like she's reading your mind. The next thing that occurs to you is that she is a psychic, and actually might be doing so. Your expression returns to a scowl, and you ask "You had best not be using any of your psychic trickery on me, Spider."

She lets out a long laugh at this, then holds up her claws in mock resignation. "Hate to disappoint you, Zahhak, but I'm not reading your mind. Most highbloods are _entirely_ immune to my psychic manipulations, yourself included. Sadly."

"Then how do you know my name?"

"I had a veeeeeeeery reliable source of information on Tarvinia. You didn't think I'd go in for a duel with her completely unprepared, did you?"

You scoff at this. "You clearly were not prepared enough."

A regretful and frustrated look flashes briefly across her face. "Well, no. I'd not accounted for everything. But I did learn a great deal about you and your little team. Except it's not yours at all, is it?"

She's smiling now, a broad, confident smirk at odds with her position as prisoner. "Your superior officer is several shades your inferior by blood, and you are of equal rank in her team with a bunch of lowbloods. Do you know whyyyyyyyy that is?"

You try and keep yourself calm, but you are beginning to sweat again. Her words are eating away at you. It's clear she knows what buttons to push, yet you cannot bring yourself to turn away.

"Because you are a fool, Equius Zahhak. You think this galaxy needs order, which is reasonable. A lot of trolls think that. I don't, but I'm a modern-day Gamblignant of sorts; so _of course_ I lean towards the chaotic side of that particular spectrum. The difference between yourself, and those rare unfortunate creatures, the trolls who are _actually sensible_, is that you think this order of things- the hemospectrum, the Empire, and so on- is reasonable and fair, when in fact it is merely stupid."

Your anger spikes, and you don't quite have get handle on it before you retort. "I have better things to do than listening to the insults and ramblings of a prisoner. You make it sound as if you would actually _support_ the Culler." you say, practically spitting the words at her.

Vriska yawns, seemingly unintimidated. With her left claw, she pulls a set of blue dice out of her pocket, and begins to fiddle with them. You notice her right wrist is still bandaged from where T stomped on it during the duel. "The Culler? That idiot? I don't support him. I'd muuuuuuuuch rather he support me."

"What in the name of the Empress do you mean? You do realize the Culler has targeted criminals and outlaws in his cullings as well, correct?"

"So?" She shrugs, turning her back to you and stepping away from the barrier. "It doesn't mean he's anywhere near good enough to get me, the stupid wiggler. But anyway, he's not the one we're talking about."

There's a pause as she glances over her shoulder at you, then in less time than it takes to blink she's staring you in the eyes again, face only millimeters away. You instinctively rear back in shock, then attempt to hide the movement by clearing your throat and stepping a bit away from the electro-barrier.

"We're talking about you," she finishes. Her eyes gleam mischievously, mouth twitching up into a fang-ridden grin. There are slight sizzles and sparks as stray hairs drift into the electrified force-field blocking her from escaping.

"You're talking about me," you mutter while averting your eyes from her stare, trying to get a hold on this conversation again. "I was under the impression egomaniacs like you were supposed to go on about themselves."

"That's not a bad idea!" she beams. "Wellllllll, you probably know I'm somewhat of on old rival of your employer. I've culled 26 trolls in my career - and hey, confession! Bet Pyrope didn't see that coming! Most of them were pussies who had it coming, but some were just in the way, y'know? Wrong place and wroooooooong time. It happens! Just the other week, when I stole some stupid musclebeast sports painting thing, I culled a lowblood security guard who was on his way out. Unavoidable, he would've seen me and I could've be _caught_!" She gasps in mock horror.

"Enough!" you bellow, then hesitate. "Wait, it was you that stole 'The Noble Game'?"

"Well, duh! How many other attractive female gambligants and master-thieves do you know? I couldn't bring myself to leave my calling card for that one, since the work was so, well, _ugly_. I burned it. Took it as a public service, that painting was _dreadful_! Was a fun heist, though."

You sputter, feeling the released rage from earlier building up again.

"You WHAT!?"

"Burned it. Into iiiiiiiitty-bitty tiny ashes.."

"That...you...it….THAT PAINTING WAS A MASTERPIECE!"

"You care more about that stupid painting than that guard I culled, I see. What a shock."

You curl your lip, baring your teeth in anger at Serket. How could you, for a _second_, believe she had a modicum of compassion in the shriveled up _thing_ she called a blood-pusher?

"You care about Aradia though, don't you? You do realize she can't stand you, right?"

And then the budding red-hot rage freezes and turns to ice in your veins. Your expression must have shown this because her next taunts cut you to the bone.

"Ohhhhhhhh! I guess she didn't tell you that. She is ever so polite."

Small drops of blue begin to bead on the palms of your claws where your claws had cut into the flesh. You stare resolutely at the floor, shoulders around your ears, as she continues.

"None of them can stand you really, I said that before. Not the know-it-all piss-blood, not your dear, sweet Aradia, and certainly not your employer, the blind bitch - she thinks _quite_ highly of the infamous Signless, by the way; not a cultist, but a bit of a secret fangirl. She's sure done her history homework!"

You stay perfectly motionless, other than a slight ear-twitch at the mention of the heretic.

"Ooooooooh, you didn't know that, did you? Betcha didn't know about the silver chain she wears around her neck, either. You don't know a lot of things, do you Zahhak? I don't even know why they keep someone as worthless as you on the payroll. Oh yeah! That's right, you're here to keep the prisoners company, aren't you?"

There is a low growl reverberating around the brig, it takes several seconds for your sluggish thinkpan to realize it's coming from you. Swallowing does nothing to quieten it. You attempt to reply, but words are refusing to form as they should.

"I...don't...think-"

"No. You don't, do you?" Her words are harsh, sharp and even with all your STRENGTH you are useless against them. "You're just a mindless grunt, like your robots. Doing whatever you get told to do like a good little public servant. You're pathetic." She spits out the last words like acid. They burn like acid too.

With a roar you raise your fists and throw yourself at her, not thinking about the barrier until too late. With a shower of electric sparks and thousands of bolts of _ouch_ arcing through your system you rebound and curl up on yourself. The pain has finally broken through to your rage-damaged thinkpan and you know what you have to do.

Three quick steps later you are in front of the control panel for the brig, something approaching an evil grin covering your face. Thoughts whirling around you head you do not hear the series of quiet taps coming from the cell behind you. Mashing your fist at the panel you hear a keening whine as the barrier deactivates. The panel shatters, and the barrier falls.

You lunge at her, aiming to make her _end_.

She moves with remarkable speed, and there is a flash of cerulean in her left claw.

"_Fuck you_"

She slices at your neck with it, and suddenly the only thing you can do is fall.

You look up at her from the indigo puddle. Vriska Serket quickly picks up her dice, and the cerulean knife vanishes from her claw. You hear the other cell barrier deactivate, and wheels turning as she rolls her snoring partner out of the brig.

Your last thoughts are of Nepeta as you bleed out on the floor.


End file.
